A Spark in the Darkness
by russianwinter013
Summary: When Rodimus was made a Prime, there was something his predecessors couldn't figure out about him. Something…dark. Evil. Uncontrollable. Yet there seemed to be enough light in his spark to cancel out those negative feelings. But when they begin to resurface, and Rodimus grows more violent and irrepressible, will the former Primes begin to regret their decision?
1. Strange Beginnings

**Hi! Here is my new story, _A Spark in the Darkness!_**

**Universe: G1, with Prime characters.**

**Genre: Horror, Mystery, Suspense, Drama**

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: Likely gore in future chapters. Possible angst, depression, and insanity.**

**Summary: **_When Rodimus was made a Prime, there was something his predecessors couldn't figure out about him. Something….dark. Evil. Uncontrollable. Yet there seemed to be enough light in his spark to cancel out those negative feelings. But when they begin to resurface, and Rodimus grows more violent and irrepressible, will the former Primes begin to regret their decision?_

**Author Notes: **_Nothing else to say, really. So...enjoy!_

* * *

It was loud. Oh so _loud._

But what could one expect—they were on a battlefield.

He knew he was not known for his pleasant moods, but his mood was rapidly deteriorating. Cursed with a phenomenal processor ache, the pain building in his helm was growing worse each passing breem. No, he would not go to the medic; what would be the point? He did not want pain chips or an enforced leave from work. He would fight, no matter his current condition, and support his team.

Yet he knew it was a matter of time before someone found out. They were always stressing over him. Sure, he was not his fearless and extremely courageous predecessor Optimus, but his team just never knew when to _stop. _It was starting to drive him a little crazy.

_"Incoming!"_

Springer's voice reached him, thunderous as always and doing nothing for his leader's immense processor ache, through the mass of fighting Cybertronians. With a quiet vent, Rodimus turned and fired his blaster, his annoyance resurfacing as the Seeker trinemate Thundercracker merely slid back a few feet only momentarily stunned. Sensors flaring, the Prime ducked at the last and least expected moment, the body of the blue Seeker's mate—a cursing mech who happened to be Starscream—crashing into Thundercracker with a harsh clang; the Prime hissed as the sleek metal of the airborne mech scraped harshly over his wings, shredding the sensitive metal and sending searing pain throughout his neural network. With a scowl, Rodimus straightened and turned to glare at the green triple-changer.

_/Don't blame me. I **did** give you a warning./_ The massive warrior spoke through an encrypted communications line, currently in a brutal fist fight with a viciously grinning Astrotrain.

_/You did, but yet you somehow always manage to try to clip my wings./_ Flaring the powerful appendages, the dark orange mech bit back a groan as the painful pressure building in his helm roared.

Springer, ever the observant mech, narrowed his optics as he noticed his leader grimace in a way that made him rather concerned for the other's health. _/Rodimus, you okay?/_

_/Quit worrying about me and keep your helm in the game!/_ The Prime snarled, whipping around to parry a blow from an enraged Starscream. Dentia clenched in a futile attempt to nullify the strengthening pounding in his helm, Rodimus reached out, wrapping his servo in an iron grip around the Seeker's throat.

The Second-in-Command of the Decepticons hissed, scraping his talons over his attacker's armor. "Release me at once, you pathetic excuse for an Autobot!"

Rodimus scowled, narrowing his optics. "I think not, Seeker." His grip tightened slowly and his upper mouthplate curled in an enraged sneer. Starscream choked, optics widening in the fear he was known for as his processor began to slow from halted Energon flow.

"Rodimus."

The voice startled him, tearing the Prime from the foggy miasma his mind had been wrapped in, as a heavy and warm servo landed on his shoulder panel. Springer stood next to him, flanked by a concerned looking Arcee, Blurr, and Wheelie.

"You can let him go now," Springer muttered, flicking his optics over in a disgusted manner to the weakly struggling trineleader. "He isn't going anywhere."

Rodimus fixed his gaze back on Starscream, who was now eerily silent, seemingly strangled into unconsciousness. With a tired vent, the Prime dropped the unconscious mech, pressing his mouthplates together with a slight grimace as the pain in his helm increased.

"Boss bot okay, done with the play?" Wheelie asked, tilting his helm.

Rodimus shook his helm, immediately regretting it as the aching grew stronger in a relentless manner. "Fine, Wheelie. Fine." He raised his voice, addressing his team. "We are heading back to base!"

Before he could do so, however, black darted in and out of his vision and his optics flickered. Springer and Blurr noticed and immediately steadied the larger mech, mindful of his scarred wings.

"Rodimus..."

The Prime rumbled deep in his chest, his engine growling. "Get off. I said I am fine."

Blurr shook his helm, widening his large blue optics. "Forgive my saying, but you clearly are not 'fine.' I do not know if you know this, but your core temperature is rather abnormally high, and you seem to have trouble cycling air throughout your rather large frame if I am allowed to say so myself. Now, I don't know about you, but that does not qualify as 'fine' in my book." Of course, this was all said in barely one vent, yet the surrounding Cybertronians could all understand the young mech. Rodimus, it seemed, was nowhere near pleased with what he had just been told.

Rodimus scowled, wings flaring in a dangerous and aggressive wide position. "It is merely a helm ache if my health is concerning you. It is nothing to overwhelm yourself about."

"Rodimus, are you certain?" Arcee spoke up, tilting her helm. "You don't look fine."

The Prime vented in a slightly hoarse manner, cringing ever so slightly as the pain began to travel throughout his chassis. "It is nothing rest cannot fix, Arcee. I will be…fine…" Suddenly the Commander of the Autobots cried out, his legs giving out beneath him. Blurr and Springer nearly dropped the large mech, but they quickly regained their bearings and steadied the other once more.

"Rodimus, what's wrong?" Arcee demanded, pink armor flaring ever so slightly.

The Prime snarled, narrowing his optics. "Stay away." His voice was a low and dangerous growl, so uncharacteristic for the normally quiet mech.

"Boss bot has lost it, seem to come off it?" Wheelie chirped, his servos twitching as if eager to get into something.

"Do not say that," Springer growled, narrowing his optics. "He is fine; stop trying to convince us otherwise. All he has is a processor ache."

The childlike little mech seemed hurt, optics widening to an almost unbearable level of innocence. "Wheelie not be mean, the intent is clean." He spoke in a soft murmur, looking down as he stepped away from the larger mech.

"Oh, look what you've done!" Arcee snapped. "You made him feel bad! You hurt his feelings!"

Springer bared his dentia. "Who cares about the kid's feelings? He should know better."

"Stop it, stop it!" Rodimus caught their attention again when he shuddered violently, his powerful wings held wide and his armor flaring aggressively. "Just be quiet and let me…rest…" His optics began to drift shut and his vents began to stall.

Springer shook him awake gently. "Come on, big mech. We need you awake."

Rodimus snarled once more, shaking his helm. "No, you do not. Just leave me alone!" His voice deepened, filled with irritation and exhaustion. "This is why I did not want you to know…"

Blurr piped up. "Know what, sir? Is it a secret? Well, if it was you obviously would not tell us; that is why a secret is a secret. But then why would you be keeping secrets? Skeletons in the closet, hmm? Or maybe—"

"Blurr!" Springer growled again, roughly shoving the mech. "Enough!"

The younger mech narrowed his optics but stopped talking as Springer made to speak to the nearly unconscious Prime. "Rodimus, will you please speak to us so we can know what is wrong?"

Rodimus shuddered, shifting slightly in the triple-changer's grasp. "I…" He drew in a ragged vent, hot air blowing from his respiratory systems.

"Yes?" Arcee urged, clasping her servos in eager anticipation.

Rodimus seemed to snap out of a haze. He forcefully yanked Springer's servos off of him, his claws tearing into the green mech's armor.

"I told you before; I am fine. So stop worrying and…" He grimaced and stumbled slightly, optics flaring brightly at anyone who tried to help. "…just leave me be…"

Before anyone could react fast enough, the Prime's optics darkened and he collapsed with a harsh clang, his offline frame limp and cold.

* * *

**There's that! I just came up with this idea. Hope you liked! **

**P.S. Is anyone out of character? I do not really know Springer's character that well, so...**


	2. Uncontrollable

**Here is Chapter Two! Many thanks to the guest _Hello _for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed! :)**

**_Response to Your Review_: I am not so sure if I will make a romance between the two. It is not really my thing, and I am not all that good at it, so...sorry for any inconvenience this may cause! Perhaps a really great friendship...? I will see if I can work something out, but if it is complete garbage I am sorry to disappoint you. :/**

**Note: Even though this is G1-ish, and Rodimus and Ultra Magnus are in command of the Autobots, I did not kill off all of those characters, such as Wheeljack, Ratchet, and Prowl, like Hasbro (am I correct on that?) did in _Transformers: The Movie. _They will make an appearance later, with the exception of Ratchet, who is in this chapter.**

* * *

"Get out of the way!"

A thunderous voice boomed throughout the Autobot base, seeming to shake it to the very foundations.

A large blue, white, and red mech stepped out of the nearest office, crossing his massive servos over an equally large chest. His blazing blue optics narrowed even more at the sight of the group of rushing Cybertronians heading towards him.

"Do you realize that you are violating more than one rule by rushing throughout the hall?" he growled, his rumbling voice echoing throughout the hall.

"Save it, Magnus!" Springer growled with his green armor flared as he bared his dentia in pure and unadulterated rage. There was, however, the faintest hint of concern in his burning glare.

"What happened, then, to cause such a ruckus?" the SIC demanded, moving to block their method of entrance.

"Sir, no disrespect, sir, but we have a dire emergency," Blurr hissed, his frame beginning to tremble in agitation. He seemed to be weighed down by something, but from his current position Ultra Magnus could not see what was doing so. "There has been an incident, yes, there has, a most unfortunate one. We have an injured mech on our servos. But believe it or not, we do not know if he is actually injured, because he denied help, and, therefore, he—"

"Blurr." Arcee, who had been standing in the back, placed a servo on the shaking mech's servo. "It will be alright."

"Who might I ask is injured?" Ultra Magnus questioned.

Wheelie piped up from somewhere in the mass. "Our boss is hurt, we know not what works."

"What?" The massive mech's irritation seemed to dissolve, and the harsh light in his optics softened ever so slightly. "Where is he?"

Arcee and Springer moved aside to allow the larger mech to better see the problem. Wheelie and Blurr were supporting the unconscious frame of none other than Rodimus Prime. His lean yet massive frame was barely held up by the two smaller mechs, and Blurr's trembling did nothing to ease the enormous dead weight of the Autobot Commander.

"What happened?" Magnus growled, narrowing his optics, "And who did it?"

Wheelie replied, seemingly oblivious to the towering mech's darkening mood. "No one did harm. Now please take him; he is hurting my arm."

Ultra Magnus stepped forward to relieve the smaller mechs of their burden, only to hand the unconscious mech to Springer. Wheelie vented as if in much-needed relief, and Blurr reared back, his frame rattling and beginning to become his namesake. Arcee soothed the younger mech, who scowled at the attentions but did not move away from the kind and caring femme.

"Get him to the medical bay," Ultra Magnus ordered, narrowing his optics even further.

"It would be a pit of a lot easier if you weren't currently standing in our way!" Springer snarled, pure and unadulterated menace in his voice as he shifted with the dead weight of his leader in his servos.

The massive SIC crossed his servos. "You would be wise, soldier, to show respect in the presence of higher authority and command."

The green triple changer ignored the warning. "If you'll actually allow us to get to the medical bay, we would not be bothering you. Now _move."_

Ultra Magnus' optics were slits as he made to retort, but his statement was cut off as the smallest of the group spoke.

Wheelie peered out from around the larger frames of Blurr and Springer. "Doctor be mad, do not want, very bad."

The strict SIC glared down at the small mech, who stared back innocently. After a few tense breems, the blue mech vented in acceptance, moving aside. "Very well."

Springer let out a low grumble, his engine growling as he turned to glare up at expectantly at Magnus, who did not acknowledge the action as he turned and led them to the medical bay.

... ... ... ... ...

All was silent as they entered the workplace of the CMO. The only noise, however faint it was, was the humming of monitors attached to stasis-locked mechs and femmes that had been a part of some previous battle.

The looming frame of the head of the medical bay stood hunched over a monitor, dark cerulean optics narrowed as his digits tapped restlessly on the keyboard laid out in front of him. At the clearing of a vocalizer behind him, he straightened and turned sharply to face the group.

Ratchet's mouthplates curled into a scowl. "It could have taken you long enough to get here."

"Mute it." Springer crossed his servos, rocking on his pedes. "Doc, can you find out what's wrong with Prime or not?"

The CMO glared at the triple changer for the briefest of moments before fixing his harsh and cold stare on Springer. "Put him on that berth." He motioned with one servo, heading around his massive computer and starting towards them.

"Boss bot will be okay, then he will be back to do the play?" Wheelie questioned, tilting his helm.

Ratchet did not answer, if one did not count the slight narrowing of blazing blue optics as a response, as the armor covering his right servo split apart and folded back to reveal his medical scanner, which he ran over the unconscious Prime's chassis.

"Well, what is it?" Blurr demanded, never one for being patient. "Is it something big or something small? Well, if it was big then you would be eerily quiet, which is saying something considering that you are one of the loudest mechs I have ever met. But then, if it was something small, you would be cursing like you normally do, like a vendor from the Pits, so then one can assume it is either big or small or neither -"

"Slaggit, Blurr, _enough!" _Ratchet snapped, towering above the smaller mech. "Can I just work in some peace and quiet for once?"

Blurr froze, tilting his helm as his white optics narrowed, before pressing his mouthplates together and crossing his servos. "Well, that is just fine. Everyone just loves to yell and curse like the ground-ridden slag eaters they -" Before he could finish, his frame became blurred around the edges and he vanished from the medical bay.

Ratchet vented, rolling his optics as he turned to the anxiously waiting group. "There seems to be nothing wrong with him at the moment. Was he complaining about anything? Acting out of the ordinary?"

"Just a helm ache," Arcee supplied, "But it seemed to be a pretty bad one. The pain seemed so intense that he couldn't stand up straight without help."

The medic vented harshly. "Well, my scanner say that everything is fine. No excess pressure in the helm or excess energy running rampant. We will have to wait until he wakes to find out what is truly wrong, and whether that depends on his health or him remains entirely up to whatever will happen."

A groan sounded, making them all turn as the monitor attached to their Prime began to beep frantically, signaling his waking. Rodimus' optics flickered back online and his frame shuddered as he stirred on the berth.

"Rodimus." Springer pushed past the others, kneeling at his friend's side. "How are you feeling?"

The Prime's optics darkened momentarily before onlining once more. "Like utter...slag." His voice was extremely hoarse and his muscle cables trembled as he struggled to sit up.

Ratchet moved in a flash, helping the larger mech sit up. "Easy there, Rodimus. From what I have heard, you have been through a lot."

Rodimus seemed to choke, his ventilations stalling for the briefest of moments as a harsh bout of coughing racked his frame. The medic steadied him as he rocked precariously. When he was settled, the Prime shoved the red and white mech away, scowling ferociously.

"You told him?" the Autobot Commander hissed, glaring at Springer.

The green mech reeled back, confusion etched onto his faceplates. "Rodimus, I told him nothing. We brought you here out of concern for your health."

The Prime scowled, seeming to regain full control of his vocalizer as he spoke in that strange and uncharacteristic growl from earlier. "I am fine, Springer, and you need to learn to stay out of others' business."

Springer seemed rendered by disbelief for a moment, but not until his optics flashed and he bared his dentia in a feral scowl. Leaning closer than he already was, he spoke in a furious and hushed voice. "Explain to me, then, _Rodimus," _he snarled. "Why should I _not _be worried for the one mech I can actually call a friend? Why should I sit back and act like nothing is wrong? Explain _that _to me."

Rodimus narrowed his blazing amber optics, forcing an observant and wary Ratchet away as he forced himself to stand. In his sudden rage, he towered over the already massive triple changer, his powerful engine growling in a barely concealed warning and his wings flared wide in unusual aggression.

"Why should you care?" he hissed in a voice deeper than its normal tenor. "You shouldn't. A Prime has no _friends,_ no _allies,_ other than his backups on the battlefield." He leaned close, almost olfactory-to-olfactory with the glaring green mech. "So get that through your thick helm and find someone else to run with." Rodimus turned and headed for the med-bay doors, snarling at Ratchet as he futilely attempted to enforce a medical leave.

However, before Rodimus Prime could leave, a large and heavy servo settled against his own.

Growling, Rodimus turned to glare at Ultra Magnus, who remained impassive and unrelenting.

"Rodimus. Tell us what is wrong. This is not like you." The SIC's voice was cool and calm.

"What makes you believe something is wrong with me?" the Prime growled, attempting to break free from the iron grip restraining him, not able to do so only because of his weakened state.

"The fact that you are currently fighting me, and that you just fought your best friend." Ultra Magnus remained unmoved by the larger mech's irritation.

"Magnus." Rodimus spoke in a low and dangerous voice. "Let me go."

The blue mech shook his helm. "No. Not until you let the good doctor take a look at you to see what exactly is malfunctioning."

What happened next occurred in a matter of a few breems.

Rodimus' optics narrowed, blazing an unnerving shade of amber. With a twist of his lean body, he jerked out of Magnus' grip, rearing back as he landed gracefully and silently on his pedes. Baring his dentia in a feral scowl, he lunged at his Second, who, unable to react fast enough, suffered from the other's immense strength as he was pummeled with blow after blow.

"Blue bot need help, fight apparent whelp?" Wheelie demanded, readying himself as his subspace opened and he took out his slingshot.

_"Whelp?" _Rodimus snarled, wings flaring wide as he fixed his furious glare on the small mech. Realizing what was going to happen, Ultra Magnus immediately moved forward, restraining the Prime.

Rodimus growled, jerking in the blue mech's grip. "Let me go!"

"No, Rodimus! Not until you tell us what's wrong!" Magnus growled back, increasing the strength of his hold.

With a roar from his engine, Rodimus flared his wings to allow the razor points to scrape the other in the faceplate, tearing a gash in his optic. With a pained hiss, Ultra Magnus flinched and unintentionally let his grip loosen. Rodimus twisted his servos back, digging his claws into Magnus' shoulder panels. Grinning viciously, the Prime heaved the mech over him and threw him hard enough to knock him through the wall on the other side of the medical bay.

Rodimus snarled, amber optics blazing. "Do not even think of approaching me again." With another growl, the Prime turned and stalked out of the medical bay.

The others remained, standing still and staring at the spot their leader had just occupied.

"What just happened?" Arcee demanded, confusion on her faceplates as she seemed racked with her worry and concern.

"Boss seemed to snap, throw Magnus through the wall, that's a wrap!" Wheelie chirped in agitation, blue optics darting back and forth as if the enraged Prime could hear his words and would appear any nanosecond.

Ratchet shook his helm as he pulled Ultra Magnus to his pedes, his white and red armor flared. "There is something seriously wrong with Rodimus. I need to take another look at him."

Springer scoffed. "Well, that's clearly not going to happen. Not unless you want your faceplate ripped off."

The medic scowled. "There is no reason for you to be snapping at me when your _best friend _just nearly cursed you into oblivion."

The triple changer growled, rising from his current seat on a crate as he approached the CMO to meet him faceplate-to-faceplate. "I dare you to say that again."

Ratchet barked out a vicious laugh. "Or what? You will use one of your many weapons to incapacitate me?"

Springer narrowed his optics. "I'm seriously thinking about it, mech. Keep trying my patience."

_"Enough!"_ Arcee startled them as she raised her voice. "Would you please just stop fighting and try to figure out a way to help Rodimus without terminating each other?"

The two large mechs glared at each other before backing down.

"The good doctor is correct." Ultra Magnus broke the tense silence as he spoke in his rumbling thunder of a voice. "We must find Rodimus in order to let Ratchet take a look at him."

"It will not be as easy as you think," Springer countered. "He just _threw you through a wall. _What makes you believe he will speak to you?"

"I was not suggesting myself, nor was I offering my assistance." The strict and cold demeanor of the SIC returned. "As second in command, I have other duties to fulfill. Should you require my assistance when Rodimus becomes to overpowering to handle, contact me." With that, he turned, leaving the shocked mechs and femme behind.

"Coldsparked glitch," Ratchet growled. "He's starting to make me believe that he doesn't care about the lives of his teammates." He faced the others, servos crossed over his chassis.

"Doctor, what will we do? We can't be through," Wheelie murmured.

Ratchet vented, his exhaustion finally coming into play as he ran a servo over his faceplate tiredly. "Until we can truly find out what is wrong with our leader, we will not raise suspicions. Keep an optic on him, and should his unusual behavior take a turn for the worse, inform me immediately." He turned and headed back to his computer.

"Now. Get out of my medical bay."

... ... ... ... ...

He sat in his darkened quarters, venting in short and hoarse gasps. His chassis was burning, and no amount of cool air from his chilled room could alleviate the blazing ache hidden deep within him.

_What is going on with me? All of this rage, this restrained rage...I just want to let it out...it is just begging to break free..._

_No. Control it. This will do no good for your team. You are supposed to be a leader._

_What kind of leader throws his second in command through a wall and yells at his best friend?_

_A misunderstood one. _

_They understand me. They know what I am going through._

_Do they now? You are one of the youngest Primes in history. They have no idea what you are going through. The burdens you bear, the troubles you hold...why would they ever understand that? How could they?_

_All they need to do is ask. If they are curious, such inquiries would merely lessen said curiosity._

_But do they want to understand you? Do they want to bear the troubles you currently possess?_

_Enough! Stop trying to wrap me in your ill-intended lies!_

_Are they really lies, Rodimus? Or are you merely afraid of the truth?_

A growl rumbled throughout his chassis, followed by the harsh aching pang in his throat. No, no, no. Keep it under control.

_Why? Why would you want to hide from the truth? _There was a pause, in which the voice in his helm seemed to be contemplating something before erupting into cold and sadistic laughter. _Ah...I see. You are afraid of what you will find, afraid of the secrets and inner turmoil that will be displayed constantly._

With a shuddering vent, he forced himself to his pedes, beginning to restlessly pace the length of his room. _Focus, Rodimus. Relax._

_Relax? _The voice almost sounded haughty. _What will relaxation do to ease your suffering? Nothing! It will only prolong the inevitable._

_I will not listen to your lies! Get out of my mind! Who are you!_

_Lies?! _Fire tore through his chassis, making him cry out in pain as he fell to his knees, cradling his helm between shaking servos. _How dare you accuse me of lying! All I am doing is speaking the truth! The truth that you do not wish to hear!_

_What truth do you speak of? What could possibly be there that would want me to harm my friends, to lash out at them in animalistic fury?_

_Why don't you see for yourself?_

He had no time to protest or react when he was brutally forced into unconsciousness.

* * *

**There's that! Hope you liked! Enough action, too much, too little? R&amp;R, pleaze! :)**

**Bye!**


	3. New Encounters

**Hi! Here is Chapter Three of _A Spark in the Darkness! _**

**To Hello: _A_**_** Response to Your Review: **_**Yes, I know everyone was on edge. It was meant to be that way. They are all worried for their Prime, and I am thinking of having a possible constant tension between Ratchet and Springer. Also, I fixed the error you mentioned about Wheelie. Thank you so much for your wonderful reviews and for taking the time to read my story! :)**

**To the others: I know this may sound cruel and heartless, but _please _click that stupid little review button and feed me your thoughts! I feel as if I am only writing this for just the wonderful _Hello _and even though you guys are following and favoriting this, it would be lovely to know what you think...what does a girl have to do? Beg?**

**Meh. Enjoy!**

* * *

Arcee entered the recreation room, her optics scanning the room. Most of the warriors were there, along with a few of the mechs and femmes of lower rank and different occupations. She noticed the enormous green frame of Springer seated at a table with a cube of high grade in his servos, tracing his digits over the edges of the container. It was obvious he was in a mood that was worse for the wear. He did nothing as Arcee came and sat next to him.

"Springer." She spoke in a soft voice, checking the corner of her peripheral vision to watch for spying mechs or femmes. The condition of their commander did not need to be publicized by beings eager for any chance to gossip.

"What?" Springer's voice was low and slightly hoarse, but according to the femme's scanners the mech before her was barely over-energized.

"How are you feeling?" She hesitantly placed her hand over the other's, ignoring the almost burning heat and the massive size difference.

The green mech scowled, narrowing his optics. "Like slag." His grip tightened on the Energon cube, enough to crush it slightly. Some of the liquid flowed over the edges of the container and onto the large green servos. Snarling lowly, Springer shook the drink from his hands, armor flaring ever so slightly.

Arcee laughed quietly at the other's frustration. "Perhaps you should stop drinking that, then."

The triple-changer gave a growling laugh. It was a rough sound, one that somehow sent chills down the femme's spinal components but made her feel the slightest bit of relief at the same time. "If you want me to stop drinking, then why don't you take this from me?"

"Like this?" The sniper reached over and pulled the cube from his servos, a slight smirk playing at her mouthplates.

"Sneaky femme." Springer leaned back in his seat, stretching with a deep vent. His joints and hydraulic lines snapped back into their designated place with an audible crack. "What do you want?"

"An answer to my question," the femme murmured. "Have you seen Rodimus?" Lowering the volume of her voice, she leaned forward in her seat, catching the optic of a curiously approaching femme and glaring hard enough to make her squeak and turn to run back to her disappointed comrades.

"No." Springer turned to look at her, his optics narrow and slightly hazed. His digits twitched as if eager to crush something, but he pressed his mouthplates together and clenched his servos into fists.

Arcee vented in exasperation, tightening her grasp on the larger mech's servos. "Springer, now isn't the time to let your emotions plague you. Have you seen him?"

"I said _no, _Arcee!" The green mech pushed away suddenly, vents heaving as he shuttered his optics. His armor rattled as he rested his helm on his crossed servos.

Arcee watched him silently, optics softening in concern. It was silent for a moment until she spoke once more. "Springer. Look at me." When he did not do as told, she placed her petite servos under his chin and forced him to meet her gaze. _"Look at me. _Everything will be okay."

The triple-changer snarled at her, his optics turning into slits. The noise was filled with irritated weariness, yet it was contradicted by the despair shown clearly in his blazing cobalt optics. When he spoke, it was in a quiet and hoarse voice, one that was so uncharacteristic for such a powerful mech. "How do you know?"

Arcee pressed her mouthplates together. After a moment of silent contemplation, she stood, still holding onto her companion's servos. "Come."

Springer looked up at her, optics flickering ever so slightly. Noticing the femme's grim determination, he believed it best not to question her and rose to his pedes, allowing the other to pull him out of the recreation room. There was a tense and uncomfortable silence as the pink femme released him and crossed her servos, seeming to examine him as he stared back.

"What is it, Arcee?" he finally demanded, breaking the silence. "What's the problem?"

"You." She spoke one word, soft and cold, with her optics half-shuttered and fixed on the sterile metal floor of the hall.

The triple-changer tilted his helm, engine rumbling softly. "What do you mean?"

Arcee vented, pressing her mouthplates together once more. _"You _are the problem."

"Care to explain why?" Springer crossed his servos.

Arcee stared up at him with wide optics filled with disbelief. "Why, Springer? You're asking me _why?" _Moving forward in a few sudden strides, she backed him against the wall and stared up at him. "You're wallowing in self-pity and guilt over something you have no control over! Why, Springer?"

Springer narrowed his optics, rumbling deeply and sending the feeling through both of them. "You heard what Rodimus said the other orn. He doesn't care about any of us. Why would I care? How does that make _me _the problem?"

"Stop caring so much." Arcee glared up at him before shaking her helm and putting her servos on her hips. "Look, I know this may sound cold, but you're one of our best warriors, and we can't have you wrapped up in emotional conflict over your best friend. We need you, Springer. Please, just..." She glanced away, ventilations flaring as her pink armor shifted over her petite frame. "...just keep your helm in the game."

The triple-changer hesitated, the harsh light in his glare softening ever so slightly. "Fine, 'Cee. I'll...keep your advice in mind."

Arcee smiled softly at him, backing out of his personal space and nodding. "Good. You should." With that, she turned and walked away.

Before he could think of anything else, however, his communications link whirred to life. _/Springer./_

He vented deeply and calmed his roiling emotions. _/Yes, Commander?/_

The cold tone of the Autobot SIC sounded once more. _/Report to my office immediately./_

The large green mech rolled his optics, internally grateful that the other could not see him. _/Yes, sir. I'm on my way./_

* * *

He lay on his berth, optics locked onto the ceiling. Chassis racked with violent and unrelenting shudders, the pain in his helm continued to make itself known. He could not recharge properly, and if he did it was for only a few breems before the voice in his helm returned to make everything worse than it already was.

_Rodimus..._

He flinched, moaning softly as the aching fire ran through him. _No, no, no. It is not real. It is not real._

_Denying yourself the truth again? _The voice was unnervingly pleasant today, speaking in a calm and quiet manner as if it were exhausted by its own methods. _Why must you torment yourself so?_

Torment? He was not tormenting himself. He was not _listening._ That was _not_ a form of torment.

_Really now? And what is a form of torment, then? This?_

The Prime cried out as the pain coursed through him, and he forced himself to sit up, cradling his helm in his shaking servos. _Stop it, stop it! Just leave me alone!_

_Why? _The voice was mocking in its pretend concern, making the other's spark twist in horror and disgust. _Give me one good reason why you should be left alone._

He clenched his dentia against the pain, unable to respond to the emotional conflict he was suffering from. A shudder could not help but wrack his frame as the voice laughed, a sound filled with sadistic mirth and desire.

_You cannot. Why is that not a surprise?_

_Just shut up. Shut up and leave me alone! _Petty insults such as that would not get him anywhere, but there was no harm in trying.

_No harm in trying? I will show you harm. _It continued to laugh as the Prime shuddered in despair.

Rodimus froze, venting harshly as a realization hit him. With a grimace, he forced himself to his pedes and entered the open command for the door to his berthroom.

_Where are you going? To speak to your **friends?**_

_Be silent and maybe I will tell you._

He silently made his way down the hall.

The light did nothing to pierce the darkness mercilessly wrapped around his soul.

* * *

Springer headed down the hall, stopping in front of Magnus' office. Taking in a deep vent to calm himself and his nerves, he raised his servo and knocked.

"Enter." The rumbling voice of the massive SIC sounded through the door.

The green warrior pushed the door open. Ultra Magnus sat behind his desk, servos crossed over his broad chest and faceplate devoid of any information that would allow the other to figure out what he was thinking.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Springer questioned in an impassive voice, keeping his tone carefully neutral and calm.

Magnus, never one for stalling or kind greetings, nodded at the chair in front of his own. "Sit."

Springer, not surprised by the larger mech's straightforwardness, did as ordered. "If you don't mind my asking, sir, what is this about?"

The enormous blue mech moved suddenly, shifting forward as he placed his large hands on the desk. "We will have a few new Autobots transferring over from the Praxus base on Cybertron. They were believed to have been terminated centuries ago, but they have recently contacted us requesting safe haven now that the Decepticons have learned of their secret base's existence."

"Who are these Autobots?" the triple-changer demanded quietly, boldly meeting his superior's gaze.

Springer could have sworn he saw a smirk pass over the other's faceplate. "You will find that out soon enough." Ultra Magnus stood slowly, venting as joints cracked from long-term disuse. "Come. They will be arriving shortly."

Springer stared after the massive blue mech for a moment before standing and following him.

* * *

He vented, in and out, deeply, to keep his emotions at bay. He ignored the strange glances he received and did not respond if someone called to him. After all, he was their leader, and no one bothered the leader when he was in a mood that was worse for the wear.

If only he could tell the voice in his helm that.

_You don't need to. I can hear your every thought. And it is not like I will listen anyways._

_Can you not be quiet for once? _Honestly, he had enough of a processor ache _without _the voice rambling on in meaningless nonsense.

_Quiet? I don't seem to know the meaning of the word. _It was as if the voice had a constant need to annoy him. It was like a curious sparkling just waiting to get into some sort of mess.

_Then look it up and leave me alone._

_Hmm. I'll consider it._

The aching in his helm roared, and he rumbled lowly, wings rising high on his back. He stopped for a moment, leaning against the wall as the world around him blurred and swayed precariously. Shuttering his optics against the pain, his armor flared from his rapidly overheating frame.

_Oh, is the little Prime not feeling well? Do you need to go to the doctor?_

"Rodimus?"

He flinched, reflexively lashing out. A strong but small servo caught his, stalling the attack. The Prime turned to see a worried looking Blurr standing there, just outside of his berthroom. The young mech's optics were dim, showing that he had just onlined.

Rodimus vented deeply. "Now is not the time, Blurr."

Something flashed in the gaze of the young mech as he shifted on his pedes, transferring his weight. "Sir, can I...ask you something?"

Forcing the voice and his pain away for the moment, the Commander of the Autobots nodded once. "Go on."

The blue mech flared his ventilations briefly, shuttering his optics as he seemed to sort out his thoughts. "What do you do when..." He pressed his mouthplates together, seemingly frustrated with his fast speech. Blurr shifted, leaning against the wall as he attempted to still his shaking servos. "...what do you do when you try your hardest but...but others seem to never want you to?" he finished, his speech considerably slower than usual. He did not seem to want to meet his superior's gaze.

Rodimus tilted his helm, examining the younger mech. Sensing there was something that Blurr was concealing, the Prime vented deeply and crossed his servos. "What are you not saying?"

Blurr looked up at him with wide optics. It was then that Rodimus noticed the unique coloring of the young one's optics. Completely blue, white and gold rings were centered in the middle, spinning in their owner's agitation.

"I..." Rodimus became all the more suspicious when the young, normally talkative mech seemed to be at a loss for words.

"Blurr." The Prime narrowed his optics. "Speak."

"I-I...I c-can't." Blurr cringed as his frame trembled, and he leaned back, pressing into the wall. "Just...forget what I said."

The Prime narrowed his optics, biting back a groan of pain as the voice cackled and grew louder. "Now, soldier."

The young blue mech shuddered, pressing himself further into the metal wall. "I just can't. Please, sir. Just...leave it alone." Before Rodimus could intercept the small mech, Blurr turned and vanished.

Rodimus stood there in silence for a moment until the voice spoke. _You can always find him and force the answers out of him._

The Prime scowled as he made his way towards his second's office. _I will not force Blurr to speak about something that plagues him so much._

A cold laugh sounded. _He requested your help and then turned it down the moment you offered it. In my opinion, you should beat the truth out of him._

_I will not physically harm one of the youngest members of my team! _Rodimus rumbled aloud, leaning the wall and digging his talons into the refined metal as the pain roared to voice its rising fury.

_You didn't seem so inclined to reject physical violence when your second in command confronted you._

_What? _Rodimus flared his wings wide, freezing in his tracks. _I did not...you are lying._

_Lies, lies! _The Prime cringed as the fire returned and blazed through his chassis. _What did I say about lies?! I do **not **lie!_

_Explain to me, then, why you believe I attacked my second in command?_

There was a tense pause in which the Prime felt his spark twist in slight fear and confusion.

_You really do not remember, do you?_

_Did I not make myself clear? _

The voice was silent once more. _Oh, this will be fun. Oh so fun._

The large winged mech vented heavily, cycling air through his overheating chassis. _Explain._

The voice laughed, and the sound was filled with malicious intent and desire. _No, dear Rodimus. I will not **explain. **I will **show **you._

The insane cackle of the voice in his helm grew louder until his audios were ringing.

Rodimus could only scream in pain as the world faded to black.

* * *

Springer headed down the hall, keeping an optic on his internal chronometer. Magnus was not one for tardiness and despised any being who was incapable of being on time.

He gave a nod as a greeting to the guard at the entrance to the docking bay, a slim gray and winged mech by the name of Stormrider.

"Ultra Magnus is waiting for you near docking bay compartment 361G-B," the guard informed in a voice as rumbling as his designation.

"Thank you, Stormrider. How's life treated you?" Springer questioned, looking down at the slightly smaller mech.

Stormrider shrugged, his faceplate devoid of all emotion and anything that would hint at his hidden feelings. "I believe it is okay for now. It would be appreciated if I could be back on the field."

The triple-changer placed a reassuring servo on the other's shoulder panel, giving a gentle squeeze. "I'll see what I can do for you."

The Vocian hybrid nodded sharply. "Appreciated. Now get your aft in there." With a flick of his powerful wings, the sleek mech turned and entered the encrypted open command, motioning for the other to enter.

The ship in which Ultra Magnus was currently standing in was a massive starship known as the _Guardian. _Equipped with sixteen machine guns able to fire sixty-two hundred rounds per minute, multiple laser cannons, and a state-of-the-art artificial intelligence with a highly advanced tracking system, the _Guardian _was only for dire emergencies. Yet somehow Ultra Magnus believed it was the appropriate vessel to have a meeting in.

The enormous blue mech stood with an air of superiority and power radiating throughout his electromagnetic field. His large cobalt optics fixed on the approaching mech. They narrowed the slightest bit as he took in the exhaustion and irritation that the other gave off.

"You're late." Ultra Magnus spoke in his normal overpowering and authoritative tenor, crossing his servos.

"Save the dramatics." Springer headed up the deployed ramp and into the ship, stopping to look over his shoulder panel. "You coming?"

Optics narrowing even further, the SIC entered the ship and closed the hatch.

"Is there a reason ya've kept meh waitin,' mech?" A heavily accented voice sounded behind the green triple-changer.

Springer turned, and it was then that he noticed the slim and sleek white mech perched on a table. A glinting blue visor covered his optics, making them unreadable and exposing only his mouthplates. Large claws tipped the mech's long digits, and the smirk flitting over his faceplate revealing flashing white dentia. His armor was unscathed, save for the rather gruesome scar that covered the upper part of his torso and wrapped around his neck.

Standing a little ways off was a group of three Praxians. The tallest had black, white, and red armor and ice-cold golden optics that gave Magnus a run for his impassiveness. The mech's doorwings seemed as sharp as blades and were rather large for a normal Praxian. His faceplate revealed no emotion.

The mech standing next to him seemed to be on edge. His wings were constantly twitching, rising and falling with his ventilations. His blazing white optics darted around the ship, and his dark blue armor was flared from his lean and powerful frame. If anything, the mech looked like someone to fear, not one to be afraid of everything...or, at least, anxious.

"Smokescreen, would you stop being so edgy? You are giving me a processor ache."

A very tall femme appeared from the shadows. Her mouthplates were set in a scowl, exposing long razor fangs. Her optics locked onto the green triple-changer, narrowing even further. White with flecks of gold, the femme's optics held a massive amount of cruelty and displeasure. Black and purple armor covered her frame, but the most attention grasping thing was the scars on her servos and large wings. She did not look like a kind-sparked femme.

"Eh, cool ya jets, 'Nights. Ya know 'e doesn't like tha new places all tha' much." A deep, drawling voice came from near the lounging white mech, whose mood seemed to be rapidly deteriorating. Another frame appeared from the dark. Similar in build to the white mech before him, the only difference was the mech's armor and faceplate. His frame was covered in deep red armor accented with gold, black, and white decals while his faceplate held no visor and showed off his narrow yellow optics. He was smirking while leaning against the wall, servos crossed.

"But one has to wonder: why does he not like new places? I mean, the events over the past vorns were quite dull, if you don't count the time Ricochet blew up half the lab and ended up with half of a servo and barely any armor that wasn't burned left."

The voice came from the smallest Praxian, a slim pale blue mech with golden doorwings and strange green optics. He was grinning as he moved around the room, babbling incessantly to everyone who would spare their time to speak with him. His wings twitched as he sensed the newcomer, and his optics snapped up, locking onto the massive green warrior. He zoomed over with the eagerness of a sparkling exploring the world for the first time, his wings trembling and displaying his obvious excitement.

"Hi! Who are you? You're pretty big, aren't you?" The little mech gasped, optics widening. "Are you a gestalt member? What's it feel like to be one body part? Does it feel weird? I bet it does. Why do you look so surprised? Am I being too straightforward? Prowl always told me not to talk so much, but I just can't help it! It's so fun to talk! Don't you agree?" The small mech stared up at him with so much innocence that it began to annoy the triple-changer.

"Bluestreak, that is enough." The tallest Praxian appeared next to the younger, placing a servo on the youngling's. Bluestreak chirped excitedly and went on to exploring the ship's massive interior, once again stopping to speak to everyone. The tall Praxian stared coldly at the triple-changer as if daring him to say something, before turning to the dark blue Praxian and murmuring something to him.

"Springer, allow me to introduce the Praxus Autobot team." Magnus spoke up, sensing the rising tension. "That is Jazz and his twin Ricochet. Over there is Prowl and his brother Smokescreen, and their younger sibling Bluestreak." Ultra Magnus shifted his weight, his armor resettling over his frame as the youngling babbled at him. "The femme is Nightwish."

"Nice to meet you all," Springer rumbled, his exhaustion beginning to show. "Now, Magnus, what do you want me for?"

The SIC interlaced his digits behind his back. "You will give each of them a tour and show them to their respective locations. They will inform you of their abilities and..." Suddenly the massive mech's optics glazed over and he became eerily quiet.

"Ultra Magnus?" Springer approached the other. "Sir, what is it?"

The stoic SIC shook his helm, the faintest hints of worry breaking through his strict visage. "I just received a comm." He ordered the others to remain where they were and all but dragged the green warrior from the _Guardian. _"Apparently Rodimus came out of his berthroom while we were here."

"That's great." Springer crossed his servos. "Why do you look so worried?"

Ultra Magnus pressed his mouthplates together. "Blurr has just told me that he collapsed and he isn't waking up."

* * *

**Yes! Done! My goal was only 2000, but I went over! More than four thousand! :)**

**Sorry for the crappy ending! Hope you liked!**

**P.S.: Nightwish and Stormrider are my OCs. Check out _Nameless _if you liked (so far) Nightwish! She's the main character!**

**Bye!**


	4. The Taste of Terror

**Here is Chapter Four! I apologize for the wait!**

**Apologies, this chapter really does not have that much Rodimus in it; it is mainly just the higher-ranking Autobots (the main characters) adjusting to their new additions. **

**Note: Nightwish's bio (set long before this story) is on my profile page! Feel free to check it out! :)**

**Also, I guess one can say that this is an Alternate Universe.**

* * *

Ultra Magnus and Springer stormed through the hall, the Praxus Autobot team on their heels. Normally new recruits would not have had access to such a situation, but the Praxus team was not the normal secondhand group. Jazz and Ricochet were highly trained ninjas and saboteurs, able to work in the toughest of situations. Prowl was a world-renowned tactician and former Enforcer that had received his share of Circuit-Su and Metallikato training vorns back and could go toe-to-toe with the infamous yet long-terminated Master Yoketron. Smokescreen was an excellent sniper and frontliner, and the youngest Praxian, Bluestreak, was a rather highly skilled gunner for his age. Nightwish...was another story. There were absolutely no files on her whatsoever, not even on Cybertron. It was as if she did not exist.

"Out of the way!" Magnus bellowed, frustration rising as the group slowed to a stop outside of the medical bay. Apparently, the slightest bit of information regarding Rodimus' collapse had made its way out of secured servos, and it was all too obvious that these mechs and femmes wanted to see what was going on.

"Ultra Magnus!" A feminine voice reached them, and then Arcee was pushing her way through the crowd, snapping at anyone who protested at the harsh treatment. "You heard?" She seemed on edge and very frightened as she stopped in front of the massive SIC, her ventilation mechanisms flaring hot air as they heaved.

The blue mech nodded, speaking in a grave rumble. "Yes, Arcee. What is happening now?"

The pink femme pulled the enormous mech through the crowd, his massive frame easily parting the congested hall. "Blurr was with Rodimus when he collapsed. He was too weak to carry him on his own, so he contacted Ratchet to help him. They're in the medical bay." As she entered the encrypted open command, she turned her helm to look over her shoulder panel. "Please don't antagonize Ratchet. He's stressed out as it is." Her sharp optics locked onto the new recruits. "Who are they?"

Springer spoke up, his armor shifting over his frame. "Arcee, these are the Autobots who were stationed in the Praxus base on Cybertron before the Decepticons stormed it. They have the clearance to be here."

The byzantine femme stared at the triple-changer for a moment before rolling her optics. "Whatever. We can sort this out later. Right now, we need to -"

"If you're coming in, come in already or get out!" A deep, immensely irritated voice thundered from somewhere in the medical bay.

"Scrap." Arcee cursed beneath her breath, hurriedly urging the group in and locking the door with a code only high-ranked warriors were allowed. "Sorry. I'm crowd control," she hurriedly explained to Springer as he turned to stare confusedly at her. "Let me know what's going on when you have the chance."

Springer nodded as she vanished, following the rest into the medical bay.

Jazz whistled in an impressed manner, his visor blazing as he took in the large room. "Pretty big med-bay ya've got 'ere. Jus' 'bout twice the size of tha one we used ta have."

His twin interjected, yellow optics flickering. "Where's ta medic?" His gaze darted throughout the room, his claws flexing as if eager to tear into something.

_"The medic_ is right here." Ratchet's voice echoed from a section of the room to the right of them. His tall frame loomed over a computer, his digits flying over the keys. Despite the task he was currently doing, his optics were locked onto the visitors with an disturbing accuracy.

"Ultra Magnus, why is there a group of Autobots I do not currently recognize with you?" the medic growled, moving over to a monitor and checking the information streaming across the screen.

"Do not tell me you do not recognize me." Before the SIC could respond, Nightwish stepped forward, her servos crossed and powerful wings fanning the air behind her.

Ratchet froze, his frame tensing as he turned away from the computer monitor to stare at the source of the voice. His optics were wide with disbelief. "N-Nights?"

Nightwish smirked viciously, her claws flexing as her pale optics flashed with unnervingly sadistic amusement. "Hello, my dear Ratchet."

Her words seemed to snap the medic out of a trance, and his optics blazed bright, burning in his sudden fury. "Get out."

The Seeker femme seemed confused for a moment before it was replaced with irritation. "Excuse me?"

_"Get out!" _The red and white mech whirled around, his armor flared in pure and unadulterated fury. His dentia were bared, and no one could even think of stopping him as he stalked towards her to glare venomously. "How _dare _you decide to show your face after all this time! We thought you were _dead!"_

The mysterious femme actually seemed surprised. "Well, as you can see, I am not." Her wings flared wide behind her as she, surprisingly, took a few steps back.

The medic vented harshly, running his servos over his faceplate wearily before resuming his glare. "Get out and _stay out."_

Nightwish gave the impression of being hurt until her mouthplates pulled back to expose her fangs. "Fine." She turned and vanished.

"Doctor, it would be appreciated if you could save your personal matters for a later time," Ultra Magnus rumbled, seemingly very irritated by the sudden turn of events. "Explain to us what is happening."

Ratchet vented and shuttered his optics as if to recollect himself. "Follow me." He turned sharply and left, not checking to see if they would follow.

Something zoomed past them as they entered the back rooms of the medical bay, leaving a trail of shockingly heated wind in its wake. The blur went in circles around them a few times before stopping. Ironically enough, it was Blurr.

"Didn't I tell you to _sit down and rest?" _Ratchet growled, reaching out and capturing the young mech as he tried to race around the others once more.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Blurr settled slightly, going for wringing his servos together as his optics glared shockingly bright at them. "I was going to come and get you—I was, don't look at me like that, I was!—because the monitor attached to Rodimus' spark started to beep erratically, and I didn't remember what to do, and then I tried to remember but that didn't work as you can obviously see because if it did I would not be asking for your help, so then I came to the door and was going to open it and I heard you yelling at someone and telling them to leave and decided it was best not to bother you."

Ricochet appeared next to the young mech. "Got a problem with ya timin' center, little one?"

Blurr turned to see the other, shaking his helm repeatedly and seemingly oblivious to the dark red Polyhexian's piercing yellow glare. "No, no, no, I don't, I was sparked that way." He tilted his helm. "Who are you? You look like that mech over there! You're twins, aren't you?"

Springer crossed his servos, glaring at Ratchet. "What happened to the little guy?"

Ratchet rolled his optics. "He refueled, for once. His condition had worsened since Rodimus' first collapse, and with everything going on he hadn't refueled since two orns before that." He flared his armor in a warning as the young mech attempted to interject, waiting until he had zoomed away to continue. "He was on the brink of having a seizure when he all but dragged Rodimus here, and I had to force medical grade down his throat after I helped him with the Prime. Guess it finally kicked in." His optics strayed from the group as Blurr found Bluestreak and both younglings began to chatter.

"Doctor, explain Rodimus' predicament to us, and do not stray from the details." Ultra Magnus growled, crossing his servos and glaring. It was clear that he was very irritated with the rapidly changing subjects.

Ratchet glared at the taller mech momentarily before heading over to the nearest monitor. "As far as my scanners and equipment can tell, the only thing that seems to be a problem is Rodimus' abnormally high core temperature and the excess pressure in his helm." The medic ran his servos over his faceplate wearily, a gesture that was becoming rather common.

"Where is he?" Magnus demanded, his voice booming throughout the room.

Ratchet grumbled something beneath his ventilations and led them to yet another room.

"You relocated your leader to the farthest room, one that was safe from prying optics and audios." Prowl startled them all when he spoke from the shadows, his frozen tawny optics blazing at them with an unnerving impassiveness as he crossed his servos, his wings fanning the air. "A logical decision." He did not seem perturbed by the confused and irritated glares he received as he moved to speak to a lounging Jazz, who greeted him with a wide grin as the two began to talk.

Ratchet glanced at the towering Praxian for a moment before turning back to Magnus. "He's over there. I had to hook him up to an intravenous drip because of his Energon deficiency. He should online in a few orns, a quartex at the latest. I can't even begin to diagnose his condition until he does." The medic motioned with a servo to a large and occupied berth. Rodimus lay there, his faceplate eerily peaceful as the lights from the monitors cast flickering and obstreperous shadows over his chassis.

Ultra Magnus vented deeply, shuttering his optics briefly as he seemed to come to a decision. "Very well. Continue to monitor him, keep his condition away from the public, and inform us immediately if his condition changes." He turned and headed for the exit, but not before he stopped and called over his shoulder panel. "Springer, the twins, and the Praxians meet me in my office as soon as you are settled in." They all nodded, murmuring their acquiescence.

The massive blue mech headed into the hall before stopping once more. "Find Nightwish. We cannot have her roaming the base."

"Will do, mech," Ricochet drawled, waving his servo nonchalantly. "Now, don't ya have work ya need ta be doin'?"

* * *

"Ultra Magnus tells me you and your brother are saboteurs." The green triple changer spoke over his shoulder panel as he came to a stop near the recreation room, allowing his companion to enter before him.

"Yep. Ah'd personally say tha' we're the best." Jazz's visor flickered momentarily as he took in the room of loud and rowdy mechs and femmes. Little did he know, it was actually quieter than was normal, and Springer only figured that the Autobots who were not allowed access to Rodimus' condition were merely worried.

"If you don't mind my asking, where is your brother, anyway?" Springer questioned, hoping he sounded calm and collected instead of his normal gruff and demanding tone.

"Hmm. Ricochet?" The slim white Polyhexian seemed to be taking in as much as he could, tilting his helm at the mention of his twin. "Oh, Ricochet doesn't like crowds. 'E's probably in tha trainin' room or somethin'. It takes him a while ta get used ta new places without goin' nuts an' attackin' folks." He grinned suddenly, flashing white dentia bared in that predatory action. "Ah should tell ya 'bout the Vos incident, ya know?" His helm turned, and his visor blazed into the triple-changer. "Ya can handle a little gore, can't ya?"

"I..." Springer shuttered his optics a few times, shaking his helm. This mech was one of the strangest he had ever met. "Why don't I introduce you to some of the others? I'm sure you'll like them."

Springer could have sworn the streamlined mech's grin dropped the slightest bit, yet it could have been an illusion as the Polyhexian shrugged in an almost lackadaisical manner. "Sure." He followed the massive green mech as he led him to a group of conversing mechs.

"Hey, look who's come out of his hiding place!" A large red and gold mech grinned at them, bright cerulean optics shining with amusement as he stood to greet them. "Long time no see, Springer. How's it shakin'?" He clapped a servo against the equally large mech's back.

Springer chuckled, almost stumbling beneath the massive mech's heavy servo. "Fine, Blaster, I'm fine." He faced Jazz, who was standing there with crossed servos and that same strange smirk on his faceplate. "Jazz, this is Blaster, our Communications Officer. Blaster, this is Jazz, an Autobot who just recently arrived from a station in Praxus."

Blaster grinned, holding out his servo. Jazz shook it, semi-shocked at the immensely powerful grip the other had. "It's nice ta meet ya, Jazz." He winced suddenly and put a servo to his chest, grimacing slightly as his optics flickered.

"Blaster." Springer guided his friend back to his seat. "Are you—?"

The red mech shook his helm, giving a pained smile. "It's nothing, Springer. Just the cassettes acting out." He flinched again, pressing back against his seat and waving a concerned Springer away.

"Cassettes?" Jazz questioned, tilting his helm in curiosity.

Blaster glanced up at the visored Polyhexian, optics flashing. "Want ta meet 'em?"

Jazz looked over to Springer, who was grinning at him despite being concerned for his friend. His confusion slowly morphed into shock as Blaster's chestplates folded open and four cassettes tumbled out, unfolding into small Cybertronians. Two of them were animal-like, and according to Jazz's databases, one was build like a small lion and the other similar to a rhinoceros. The other two were small mechanoids, one with a glowing orange visor and a pale blue and silver paint job while the other had a red visor and a dark navy blue and red color scheme.

"Sorry, boss." The red-visored mech spoke in a voice that was deep for his height. _"Eject _here was instigatin'. Weren't ya?" He nudged the other mech, visor flashing provocatively.

"I was not, Rewind," Eject snapped. Both mechs seemed oblivious to their visitors as they continued to squabble.

Blaster interjected as the two were about to start a fistfight. "That is enough." His voice boomed with the authority of a creator. It did soften, however, as the two minuscule mechs flinched and ceased their fighting. "Can't you see we have a new Autobot who wants to meet you?"

Jazz, seeming to recover from his sudden shock, knelt down to be visor-to-visor with the others. "Ya'll are pretteh tiny, ain't ya? Mah name's Jazz."

Rewind huffed, crossing his servos. "Ya know, that ain't the nicest way to begin a conversation with us."

"Yeah, and you sure are one to talk, seeing as though you're not even half of boss's size." Eject glared at him, orange visor flashing.

The Polyhexian's visor flashed, and his smirk morphed into an unnerving and menacing grin as his engine growled. "Now, look here, ya—"

Sensing the darkening mood, Springer intervened before things became too out of hand. "Jazz, now isn't the time. We have more _pressing _concerns, or don't you remember?"

The saboteur was silent for a moment before his visor brightened once more. "Yeah." He straightened and turned to Blaster. "Apologies, mech. Ah've been cooped up in a can too long, if ya know what Ah mean."

Blaster looked up from his attentions on Steeljaw and Ramhorn, his digits absentmindedly tracing over their backstruts. "Hey, no hard feelings. Rewind and Eject just don't know how to _stop messing with others." _He raised his voice once more as the twins began to bicker again. His attention strayed from the two mechs before him as he argued with Rewind and Eject, rumbling contentedly to the quadrupeds as they hid beneath his legs.

"Well, that's Blaster." Springer's rumbling voice tore the Polyhexian from his straying thoughts. "Just to let you know, should his creations feel threatened Blaster becomes _very _protective of them. He's not someone to mess around with."

"Duly noted." The Polyhexian vented deeply, giving off the impression of shaking off his sudden bad mood. "Okay, who else have ya got fer meh ta meet?" He grinned widely at the triple-changer, who, caught off guard, could only shake his helm.

"You are a very strange mech. I hope you realize that," he muttered as he led the suddenly eager Jazz to meet the rest.

"Ah now. But ya should see mah brother—they say _Ah'm _the sane one when he's around."

Springer could only roll his optics, vent in exhaustion, and hold back a smile.

* * *

She sat on the cold metal floor, optics shuttered and ventilations even. Her sensors were heightened, however, in order to alert her when someone approached. She was not in the mood for any interruptions.

Her thoughts drifted, back to the brief and enraged conversation she had had with the medic. The more she dwelled on the fact the more her rage steadily grew. There was no need for him to act in such a way. Yes, she had vanished for a few hundred centuries, but it was for their own protection. She was not safe to be around, and as long as she had any type of colleague or measly friend she could never ensure their safety.

Her wings flared as her vents began to heave. Heat overwhelmed her, and she cycled air throughout her frame; it did little to help her. Commanding her body to work, she forced herself to her pedes, leaning against the wall as the world swayed and rocked precariously around her; harsh tremors began to rack her lean and powerful frame. No, no, no. Now was _not _the time. She had to keep it together, keep it _together..._

"Nights?"

With a snarl, she unsheathed her sword and whirled around, pinning the intruder against the wall. Her talons dug into the other's neck cabling hard enough to draw Energon as she applied pressure she knew was uncomfortable to their throat. Her blade scraped against their armor, the faint shriek of metals grating against each other filling the room.

A pair of yellow optics glared dangerously bright, a sign that the other was clearly restraining himself from attacking. A rumble came from his engine, but he spoke in a calm yet tense voice. "Easy, Nightwish. Ah jus' came ta talk."

The enormous Seeker femme glared at the Polyhexian twin for a moment before venting hoarsely and relaxing. "My apologies, Ricochet. I have a lot on my processor at the moment." She pulled back, swaying ever so slightly on her pedes as she lowered her sword and retracted her claws.

"Ah can tell." Ricochet slowly approached the wavering femme, steadying her on her pedes. "Ya haven't recharged in a while, have ya?"

Nightwish vented once more, flaring her wings as she shook her helm.

The red Polyhexian tsked, optics flickering as he shook his helm at her. "Ya know ya shouldn't be stressin' ya systems like tha'. We both know ya need tha rest."

The femme snarled softly, talons flexing. "I do not have the time to recharge. I cannot stay here."

The saboteur purred lowly. "Ah know ya can't stay long fer the others, but why not fer meh?" He pulled the femme closer, optics flashing as a grin played on his mouthplates and he trailed his talons over her sides.

Nightwish rumbled, glossa darting over her fangs as she attempted to push the Polyhexian away. "Not now. I need to..." She swayed once more, optics flickering as a soft moan of pain escaped her involuntarily.

"Nights, if ya don' recharge, Ah can have Ratchet come down here and—"

_"No!" _The black and purple femme whirled on the other, fangs bared and optics blazing. "I do _not _wish to be anywhere near that mech!" She grimaced and shuttered her optics, vents flaring and beginning to heave once more.

"Then find a berth and _recharge." _Ricochet snarled at her, showing unusual irritation. "Ya need tha rest. Why can't ya understand tha'?"

Nightwish shook her helm once more and flared her wings wide. "Why can _you _not understand, Ricochet? I cannot stay here! It is too dangerous for you and the others!"

The red twin shook his helm. "You can't jus' run away forever. Ya have ta fight back!"

The Seeker growled deeply, fangs lengthening to razor points. "I cannot. They will not leave me be. I cannot—" Nightwish cringed as her legs buckled, but her companion caught her before she could collapse, inwardly wincing at the painful cold that radiated from her enormous chassis.

"Tha's it. Nights, ya are goin' ta recharge, and Ah _will _force ya. Now come on." Ricochet proceeded to act as the Seeker's crutch as he led her out of the darkened room.

"Where...?" She was only able to force out one word, pained and hushed.

"Ta a place where ya can rest, like Ah ordered ya ta." Ricochet checked the halls with his wide-range sensory scanners before leading the femme through it.

_Orders... _Nightwish's voice sounded in his helm, and he glared at her, only put off a bit by her eerie telepathic voice.

"Yeah, shut it." Ricochet avoided the weak swipe of sharpened talons. "Ya really need ta stop doin' tha'."

_As if. _Had she been capable of doing so, the femme would have rolled her optics. _Now shut up and get me to a berth._

"As ya wish, milady." The Polyhexian snickered at the irritated growl of the weakened femme.

* * *

"Is there a reason you are currently staring me down?"

"I am not staring you down." Golden optics blazed despite the little emotion they held.

There was an exasperated vent, and Ratchet turned to face the impassive Praxian. "You haven't left since Ultra Magnus first brought you here. If there is something wrong, spit it out or get out."

The tall Praxian tilted his helm ever so slightly, his wings twitching. "There is nothing wrong."

The CMO threw his servos into the air. "Then why are you here? I have work to do, and having you breathing down my neck doesn't help."

Prowl narrowed his optics. "The statement 'breathing down my neck' does not apply to the topic we are currently discussing. Explain."

Ratchet vented. "You are like a computer. Do you know that?"

The Praxian flared his wings in sudden irritation. "I am not a computer." His frozen optics blazed with some veiled emotion.

"Could have fooled me," Ratchet scoffed. "The term 'breathing down your neck' describes the act of following or watching once closely to make them uncomfortable."

"I am making you uncomfortable." The tactician continued to stare coldly, and he tilted his helm slightly. "Why did you not say that to start out with?"

The medic rolled his optics. "Why are you here?"

Prowl rumbled deeply. "I am merely looking to sate my curiosity."

The red and white mech stopped, turning to look in slight disbelief. "Curiosity? About what?"

The former Enforcer moved from his position of leaning on the wall, moving silently to stand next to the other. "Your computer mainframe is unlike the one we possessed in our Praxus base. I am merely familiarizing myself with how it works."

Ratchet crossed his servos. "You need a high level of clearance to access the mainframe database. You can't even begin to know how it works until you have the design specs."

"I believe that level of clearance you mention has been granted by your Second in Command." The towering Praxian leaned down so he was faceplate-to-faceplate with the medic. "Whoever has designed your security system's firewalls needs much improvement."

Irritation resurfacing, Ratchet turned away from the enigmatic mech. "I took part in its design. Who are you to criticize?"

Prowl tilted his helm, wings fanning the air as he straightened. "My designation is Prowl. I am the Head Tactician of the Praxus Enforcer Corps, firstborn son of Lord Darkblade, and master of Circuit Su and Metallikato." His mouthplates twisted into a wry smirk. "I believe I have the clearance."

Ratchet scowled, optics narrowing. "You know what? Why don't you take your _clearance _and shove it up your—" Before he could finish, however, one of the monitors began to beep in an urgent manner. The medic ignored the Praxian _noble_ as he headed over to the monitor.

He had to stop and catch his balance as an ominous crash sounded from Rodimus' medical room.

"Scrap." The red and white CMO began to curse beneath his ventilations. "Stay here and do _not _touch a thing."

Prowl crossed his servos. "I am not my brother." He did not receive an answer as the medic ignored the comment and headed into the back medical room, spark pounding. Ratchet froze at what he saw.

The room was a mess. The berth the Prime had been recharging on was overturned, and huge gashes similar to claw marks covered the refined metal. Medical tools were strewn across the room, some embedded into the walls while the others were crushed into nearly microscopic pieces. The computer near the door was destroyed, its monitor torn to shreds and the keyboard ripped in half and thrown to end up on opposite sides of the room.

The sight of the Prime was horrific. He stood there, his chassis heaving with labored vents. His Energon drip had been ripped out, and fresh Energon flowed freely from the violent gash on his servo; the contents of the intravenous bag were spread all across the floor, soaking the room and sending the sickly sweet scent of medical nutrients throughout the room. His wings were flared wide behind him and he currently had his back to the door. Those large appendages, however, twitched and Rodimus turned as he took in the signature of the medic. His faceplate was dark, and his strange amber optics blazed with a wild and violent maelstrom of emotions, rage and unsettling insanity being the most prominent. Digits tipped by menacing claws covered in what suspiciously looked like fresh Energon that was not his own, the Prime made his way closer to the medic, dentia bared in a sadistic grin.

His wings twitched and Rodimus turned as he took in the spark signature of the medic. His faceplate was dark, and his strange amber optics blazed with a wild and violent maelstrom of emotions, rage and unsettling insanity being the most prominent. Digits tipped by menacing claws covered in what suspiciously looked like fresh Energon that was not his own, the Prime made his way closer to the medic, dentia bared in a sadistic grin.

"Rodimus, what is the meaning of this?" Ratchet backed away slowly as if he were being cornered by a feral organic animal. There was something off...

The Prime said nothing, his optics flashing brighter as he took in the medic's fear and concern. His wings fanned the air behind him as his suddenly darker armor flared.

"Rodimus, can you speak? Tell me what is wrong." Ratchet wondered how he could sound so _calm. _He had never seen the Prime like this before. The young mech was normally quiet and held-back, resorting only to violence when there was no other choice.

"What is wrong?" Rodimus spoke in a low and grating voice, one that sounded nothing like his original. "There is nothing wrong. Everything is _right. _We are right."

Unnerved by the other's insanity-filled words, the medic initiated the transformation sequence for his weapons. The massive Prime, however, sensed the action and suddenly he had the other pinned to the wall, looming over him. Ratchet winced at the startling pain, the force of his being slammed against the wall denting the thinner metal of his backstrut.

"Oh, no, my dear Ratchet," the Prime murmured in a demented growl. "We cannot have you deploying your weapons...even though they would not do any harm to us."

The medic flinched as the towering mech raked his talons through the armor directly above his spark chamber. Ratchet automatically tensed. With just another swipe of his claws, Rodimus could tear gashes into his spark, and he certainly did not want that.

"Ratchet?" A smooth and cultured baritone voice came from behind the door. It was Prowl.

Rodimus snarled, amber optics burning with rising fury. They darted over to the door before locking back onto his restrained prey. "No, no, _medic. _We cannot have your friends coming to rescue you, now, can we?" He leaned close, his exvents icy as they blew against the red and white mech, who struggled futilely.

Purring lowly, the noise rumbling through both of them, Rodimus leaned closer, and Ratchet could have sworn he noticed a flash of fangs. "They will find you, Ratchet, that I can assure you. But whether they will find you in time is completely up to _me."_

Before Ratchet could process what was happening, he saw a glimpse of claws, felt pain, and then it was dark.

* * *

**Wow. This is one of the longest chapters I have _ever _written since I joined FanFiction. Eh, well. Almost 5000 words! :) Hope you enjoyed!**

**Note: I do not really know that much about Blaster's cassettes, and have only seen them once or twice before in G1. If any of you know their characters, and if I am portraying them incorrectly, please let me know if this is an inconvenience. Also, when I say Nightwish is enormous, she is just very, very tall.**

**Bye!**


	5. Grim Realization

**Yes, I know. I left you guys with a cliffhanger. Sorry. **

**Here's Chapter Four! I apologize for the wait!**

* * *

Springer moved down the hall silently, heading to Ultra Magnus' office. He had nearly forgotten about the massive blue mech wanting to meet up with him and the Praxus team; he had been just about to fall into much-needed recharge before the grim realization had hit him and he had dragged himself out of his berthroom to gather the others.

Behind him, Bluestreak chattered on incessantly, barely cycling air throughout his small frame and not even stopping to pause and recollect himself as he pointed out everything that caught his interest—and it was a _lot_ of things. Smokescreen and Prowl were behind the pale blue and gold youngling, conversing quietly. Smokescreen seemed to have calmed as he slowly grew accustomed to his new surroundings, and the nervous and wary Praxian Springer had seen that orn on the _Guardian _seemed to have vanished, for the moment, at least. Prowl, despite the fact that he was currently speaking with his brother, seemed to be on edge about something. His wings were raised high behind him and were fanning the air in almost undetectable movements, and his armor was flared, only slightly and so much that one had to look very closely to see it.

Jazz was moving with his twin, closer to the back of the group. Ricochet was steadying the nearly unconscious frame of Nightwish, who was murmuring unintelligible words, seemingly in another dialect of Kaonian origin, beneath her ventilations. She was trembling and there was a grimace of pain on her faceplates. When Springer had suggested that she be admitted to the medical bay so Ratchet could take a look at her, she had snapped back online in an instant and immediately tried to attack him. Jazz, Ricochet, Prowl, and Smokescreen all had to hold back the enraged Seeker femme, yet she still seemed to have mustered enough strength to break free and pin the triple-changer to the nearest wall. The deep gashes, which were caused by her talons shredding through sensitive circuitry, were still healing, and the attack seemed to have drained her even more than she already was.

When they entered the large office of the SIC, he was standing in front of his desk, servos crossed and a grim look on his faceplate. Springer stood at the head of the group, off to the side at a respectable distance from the towering mech, as Magnus motioned for the others to sit. Prowl, Smokescreen, and Bluestreak all sat near each other; Prowl gave Bluestreak a cold and pointed look that made the youngling instantly cease his seemingly random chattering. Jazz and Ricochet both helped Nightwish into her seat, and she gave a weak groan as she settled, her wings flaring and batting against the Polyhexians' armor. Ricochet murmured words of reassurance in her audio as she began to tremble once more; the action caused Springer to wonder if there was a relationship between the two.

His attention was torn from the strange team as the Commander before him cleared his vocalizer with a harsh growl. "Yes, we know we're late," Springer vented heavily, waving his servo. "Truth be told, we are all just a tiny bit exhausted."

Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics. "I could care less. I expected better out of the Praxus team, but _you, _Springer...I expected _less."_

The triple-changer rolled his optics. "I honestly don't care what you say, and the only thing stopping me from leaving right now is that you have the authority to throw me in the brig or give me some stupid chore to do for five quartexes. Just get what you have to say over with so we can all leave and finally recharge, which is only one of the things you have denied us for quite some time."

The SIC glared coldly, about to retort, before he was cut off by Ricochet.

"Ultra Magnus, sir, can we please jus' get this over wit'?" the red Polyhexian questioned. "Nights here ain't feelin' so well, but she all but threatened to kill meh if Ah so much as left her in her quarters or the med bay. She didn't want ta miss out on anythin'." His optics narrowed as his armor flared and he suddenly gave an eerie grin. "Ya know as well as Ah tha' we don' want her collapsin', now, do we?"

Magnus vented deeply. "Very well. I will let your current insubordination pass for the moment, since your comrade is currently ill." He ignored Jazz's threatening rumble and the dangerous flash of Ricochet's optics. He stood tall, towering over the seated mechs and femme and enveloping the brooding triple-changer near him in his impressive shadow. "You are here so we can discuss the condition of our commander, Rodimus Prime." His large blue optics flashed suddenly, and he looked around the room. "Where is Ratchet?"

"Ratchet is currently indisposed at the moment." A deep and slightly rumbling, lightly accented voice came from the doorway, and they all turned.

Rodimus Prime stood there with his servos linked behind his back, a slight smirk on his faceplate. He seemed to be rid of all sickness and exhaustion, as his optics were bright and glowing steadily. The air of power and command, one which had been absent for a rather significant amount of time, radiated around him and through his electromagnetic field, which flared in its immense power and circulated throughout the room to wash over every Cybertronian.

"Rodimus?" Springer did not keep his disbelief out of his voice. "You're...awake?"

The Prime rumbled, lowering his wings as he entered his second in command's office. "It would seem that way." His optics narrowed ever so slightly as the Praxus team immediately rose to their pedes and stood at attention. His unwavering gaze focused on the group of Praxians, Polyhexians, and the ill Seeker femme that had not moved from her seat but attempted to straighten and give her full and undivided attention to the Prime standing before her. "At ease, soldiers."

"Sir, if ya don' mind mah askin', weren't ya on enforced medical leave?" Ricochet spoke up from his position next to Nightwish as he settled back into his seat. The tall femme shivered slightly at the sound of the Polyhexian's voice, a hoarse growl escaping her vocalizer. He murmured apologies, his mouthplates ghosting over her audio, and ran a comforting servo over the Seeker's backstrut, just below her wings; it was a place that seemed to calm the other.

"It _is_ partly illogical that you were allowed free passage at such a short notice and with little time for recovery." Prowl flared his wings, watching his new commander intently as he moved to be in full view of the larger mech.

"I mean no offense or distrust to your logic, brother..." A deep, soft, and almost musical voice sounded from the back of the Praxian group. "...but would it not be _more _logical to allow the leader of the Autobots free passage if he were well enough to walk?" It was Smokescreen, who seemed to be on edge again, his wings twitching to display his agitation. "I-I mean, he does need to supervise...and what would happen if the others...?" The blue Praxian seemed to notice that the others were currently watching him, and his engine rumbled in thinly veiled distress as he pressed his mouthplates together, moving behind his relative to use him as a sentient shield as his optics fixed on the floor. Prowl flared his own powerful wings, and the younger relaxed ever so slightly as he realized his brother held no ill feelings toward him. The youngest approached the dark blue Praxian, chattering softly as he comforted the other.

Rodimus tilted his helm at the display between the two. "I fear I will never understand Praxian customs." His own wings, which were still covered in healing scars, rose the slightest bit as his optics flashed with veiled emotions.

"But you're part Vocian, aren't you? Or are you of Kaon or Praxus descent? I mean, you're pretty big anyways, but you have a flight mode, don't you?" Bluestreak finally began to talk once more after overcoming his initial shock over the appearance of the Prime, seemingly forgetting his older relative's warning.

Rodimus shook his helm. "No, young one. I am not a Vocian, and I do not have a flight-capable alternate mode." Before the youngest Praxian could respond, the Prime addressed his second. "Ultra Magnus, debrief me on what has happened in my absence."

"Yes, sir." It seemed that the blue mech had not been surprised by his superior's sudden appearance, though he might have been concealing the initial feeling. "Decepticon activity has been at an all-time low since your collapse on the battlefield. Their last attack proved to be unsuccessful and merely a desperate strike for the Energon they hunger for."

"What about the weapons? Have they made any strikes to reclaim them?" Rodimus leaned against the desk, crossing his servos over his massive flame-decaled chassis. Before the battle of his collapse, Rodimus had led a strike, along with Blurr and Springer, against the Decepticons in one of their weapon storage ships, succeeding in taking a number of their heavy artillery. They did not need it, having their own amount, but evened the playing field so they would not have to worry about triple-changers armed with sixty-two hundred round machine guns or an upgraded Galvatron.

"No, sir." Ultra Magnus remained standing tall and at attention, keeping his steady gaze on the wall across from him. He seemed to have no intention of making optic contact with the other.

The enormous mech beside him caught the movement and scowled. "Did you not hear me before? I said at ease."

Ultra Magnus pressed his mouthplates together. "Sir..."

Rodimus narrowed his optics. "I said, _at ease."_

The atmosphere of the room immediately tensed as the Prime's mood darkened and his overwhelming electromagnetic field spiked in cold irritation and power. Ultra Magnus finally relaxed, though not before receiving more than one urging and somewhat desperate glare, and Rodimus straightened. His amber optics flicked over the Praxus team, who were all wary.

Ricochet shifted with Nightwish, narrowing his optics as he tilted his helm. Activating his encrypted communications link, he spoke with his twin. _/Jazz. Ain't Rodimus' optics s'posed ta be blue?/_

Jazz continued to speak with Prowl to keep up appearances, but responded to the query. _/Yeah, Ah think so. It might have somethin' ta do with his recovery, though. Ya remember tha time your optics changed after the lab explosion?/_

_/Yes, I do./ _The red mech murmured to Nightwish, who flared her wings as she sensed the conversation the Polyhexians were having with one another. _/But, in truth, wha' Autobot has amber optics like tha'?/ _He mentally motioned to the Prime, who was speaking quietly with Ultra Magnus.

_That is not an Autobot. _Nightwish surprised them when she spoke softly, a deep and soft rumble coming from her engines. _He is **not **an Autobot. _The large and elegant femme's mouthplates curled back in a feral snarl, exposing her long and razor-like fangs. No one but the twins noticed the warning flare of her wings.

_/Wha' do ya mean?/ _Jazz grinned at the eldest Praxian, who merely flicked his wings as his optics flashed with a brief warmth. _/He looks like an Autobot ta meh. He's their Commander./_

_Look at his optics, at the emotions twisting around inside of them like a maelstrom. _Nightwish vented aloud, her systems whirring as they began to shut down. _What Autobot looks at others like that? _

The Polyhexians did as told, shifting their burning gazes back to the Prime. Rodimus was leaning against the wall, servos crossed over his broad chest and faceplate devoid of emotion as Ultra Magnus gave his required report. Despite the shown lack of emotion, the strange amber depths of the Prime's optics held hunger, rage, and desire.

He sensed their stares and turned his helm, locking his gaze with theirs. A smirk curled the corner of his mouthplates, cold and cruel and sadistic.

Jazz and Ricochet narrowed their glares. There was something wrong with the Prime, and whether or not he or his team liked it, they were going to find out what it was.

* * *

Springer headed out of the second in command's office, deep in his thoughts. He felt as though there was something wrong with Rodimus, but it could have just been his first initial doubt that _Ratchet _-the colorful cursing, easily irritated, wrench-throwing Ratchet- had let him out so early.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he did not notice the mech standing motionless in the hall.

He cringed as he collided with the smaller mech, scowling as pain flared briefly over his electromagnetic and sensory field. Quickly regaining his bearings, he snarled and bared his dentia as he glared down at the other. "Why don't you watch where you're going?" The triple changer bit his glossa and froze as he took in the sight of his aggravator.

Blurr stood there, his motor functions locked and internal functions whirring audibly. Condensation slicked his slim and streamlined chassis, dripping to the floor, and Springer could feel the abnormal heat radiating from the young mech's violently trembling chassis. His hoarse and ragged ventilations were dangerously audible, sounding as if there were a massive amount of grit and dust lodged deep within the mechanisms. The speedster did not seem to notice the presence of the larger mech.

Springer felt all of his anger vanish as he moved closer to the other. "Blurr. Are you okay?" Worry could not help but rise. Hadn't the young warrior just recovered from his earlier illness? Was he going through a relapse already?

There was no response, but the younger mech's armor rippled against his frame ever so slightly.

"Blurr?" The massive green mech shifted so he was kneeling in front of the other. "What's wrong? Can you speak?" He had heard Ratchet say once before that if you startled the lithe mech, enough to snap him out of whatever dazed trance he was in, he would lash out and more often than not incapacitate you with more than enough injuries. Springer knew he was one of the largest mechs on the base, aside from Rodimus, Broadside, Ratchet, and Ultra Magnus, and he knew that he did not want any harming injuries. Despite his long-limbed and streamlined frame and his overall young and inexperienced appearance, Blurr was trained in multiple ancient fighting techniques and was capable of even snapping a mech's neck in half should the circumstances call for such a thing.

The blue mech's mouthplates opened, as if he were about to say something. However, nothing but a strangled gasp came from his vocalizer.

Springer's concern grew ever so steadily, and he narrowed his optics in suspicion, debating on whether or not he should contact Ratchet. He shifted, his armor flaring and resettling over his frame, as he spoke in a lower voice. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Those few words seemed to grab the small mech's attention. His ventilations grew stronger as his frame was racked by brutal tremors. "I-It..."

"Yes?" The triple changer was careful to keep his voice soft and even, willing it to not betray his emotions; the young mech did not need to become more stressed than he already was. "Blurr, keep going. What is it?"

The mech gifted with hyperspeed pressed his mouthplates together, his golden-blue optics blazing insanely bright even though they were still unnervingly unfocused. "I-It's here."

Suspicion and caution rose within the green mech's spark at those two words. The lithe mech's voice was deeper than normal, and held an unnervingly eerie note within it. It could not help but send chills down his backstrut.

"What?" He grew more concerned as the speedster swayed on his pedes, and in one swift but unfaltering motion he rose and steadied him gently, heedless of the scalding heat that immediately charred the paint on his servos with a harsh sting. "Blurr, what is here?" He could not help but notice how unfocused the young mech's optics were, and they gave the impression that they were in their own land despite the fact that their owner was aware of his surroundings and speaking to the triple changer.

The small mech did not respond, his optics fluttering shut as he moaned softly and his core temperature increased even more to further worry the green mech, and for a tense moment Springer wondered if he had fallen into recharge. That assumption was quickly changed, however, as heated air blasted out from hidden ventilation shafts and a shudder racked the blue mech's frame. His optics unshuttered and the uniquely colored orbs fixed on the mech that was steadying him.

"T-The darkness." Blurr grimaced, shifting as if in unrest as his optics flickered rapidly, a sign that his body would soon force recharge in a few moments. "The gr-graced darkness..."

Before the triple changer could respond or even think of voicing the questions roaring in his processor, Blurr had fallen into a fitful recharge, leaving Springer shocked into silence.

* * *

All was quiet. A veil of darkness hung over the berthroom, cloaking all in deep and endless shadows.

The silhouette of a slim frame was barely visible in through the thick blackness, seated next to a long and lean slumbering frame on a large berth. A faint drone filled the air; it was his engine, rumbling softly to provide a comforting and resonant hum for the ill Seeker femme curled against his warmer frame.

Golden optics flashed as Nightwish moaned softly, shifting in her fitful recharge, her powerful and massive wings flaring and her talons unsheathing to rake gashes in the crimson Polyhexian's armor. She shifted restlessly, her lean frame wracked by powerful shudders.

"Hush now, babe. All is well." A clawed servo ran against the black femme's backstrut, rubbing in soothing circles; he was uncaring for the slashes marring his otherwise flawless chassis. "There's nothin' ta worry 'bout. Everythin's fine."

The Seeker let out a deep and heavy vent of strut-chilling air before resettling against her lover's heated chassis, her engine rumbling softly in content.

Ricochet vented heavily, leaning back on the cool metal berth. He despised it when Nightwish became like this, neglecting her recharge and health, especially since she was a danger to anyone and anything she came into contact with.

He jolted awake when he received a communications transmission, inwardly scolding himself for drifting off into a light recharge. With a slight growl, he pressed a talon to his audio receptor. _/Wha' do ya want?/_

_/Ah'm sorry. Did Ah interrupt ya recharge?/ _The smooth and suave tenor voice of his twin sounded, laced with the slightest bit of static.

Ricochet winced; his audios were even more sensitive than his brother's, and even the slightest hint of anything out of the ordinary could leave him with a processor ache for joors or even orns. _/Wha's up wit' tha static? Ya know Ah can't deal well wit' it./_

_/Ah'm passin' Blaster's room, that's all. 'E's this base's Communication Officer an' hates bein' interrupted in 'is recharge. Blocks all comm. links around his room, but o' course Ah can break through 'em./ _Jazz's voice cleared of the hazed interference, sending welcome relief through the other's processor.

_/Hmm. Cocky much?/ _Ricochet shuttered his optics, leaning back against the berth.

Jazz snickered, and his twin could all but see the mischievous glint in his optics. _/Ya sure are one ta talk. All Ah ever hear from ya is that you're better an' tha' ya can beat meh at pretteh much anythin.'/_

The dark red Polyhexian let out an exasperated vent. _/Ain't ya s'posed ta be investigatin'?/_

_/Well, sorry fer tryin' ta make conversation. Ya know how Ah get bored easily./ _There was a pause, but it was not long enough to allow Ricochet to snap out a reply. _/So far, Ah've got nothin'. If there is any info on their Prime, then they've got it locked up real tight./_

Nightwish rumbled quietly, her wings batting against the crimson Polyhexian's servo. Ricochet paused briefly to make sure that she was alright before replying. _/Did ya try his quarters? Ah'm pretteh sure ya'd find somethin' in there./_

_/Tha's where Ah'm headed now. Easier said than done, though. The occupants o' this base 'ave been trained ta watch for spies and tha like. Ah'm surprised no one has caught or sensed meh yet./_

_/Jus' be glad Prowl ain't there ta reprimand ya. Knowing 'im, he'd probably crash or try ta stop ya 'cause ya're bein' all illogical or some nonsense like th'./_ The older twin paused, smirking slightly as a realization hit him. _/Wha', are ya scared?/ _Ricochet could not help but tease, chuckling softly at his twin's irritated snarl. _/Don' tell meh tha great Jazz, saboteur extraordinaire, is backin' out on a mission./_

_/Shut up, ya slag eater. Ah'm almost there./_

Ricochet scoffed, careful not to wake the recharging Seeker, as he shook his helm. _/Whatevah. Jus' contact meh again once ya are there./_

_/Will do. Jazz out./_

"Ricochet?"

The Polyhexian looked down to see Nightwish staring dazedly up at him. Her wings were held low, the bladed tips skimming over the edge of the berth, and the grimace on her faceplate revealed the pain she was currently in.

"Ah, sorry fer wakin' ya, babe. Ah was jus' thinkin' 'bout some things." He ran a servo lightly over the tips of the femme's wings, making her shudder slightly as she pressed into the faint touch.

"Mmm." Nightwish shifted, her engines rumbling quietly. "You did not wake me."

The mech narrowed his golden optics and looked down at her. "Ah thought ya were through wit' those."

The Seeker snarled, optics flashing briefly in irritation. "I never said that."

Ricochet vented softly, the heated air washing over his lover's frame, as he shook his helm. "Ya didn't have ta."

Nightwish shook her helm slowly, the action sluggish in her weakly onlined state. "Let me be. I am not in the mood for this at the moment."

The slim Polyhexian vented deeply, the heated air flaring over the other and making her shudder. With his irritation resurfacing, Ricochet did not bother to apologize for such actions, despite the Seeker's weakened state. "Fine. Go back ta sleep."

The near invasive tendrils of heat swirled from the frame of the red mech, but it did nothing to pierce or move the ruthless grasp the cold darkness had on the two.

* * *

Jazz was bathed in flitting shadows, visor dimmed and claws unsheathed. He needed no interruptions during this, and he had to be as noiseless and stealthy as possible, which would not be a problem for him.

Sneaking into the room of anyone of higher authority, let alone the Prime, was something that was not taken lightly, no matter if one was an ally or enemy. He could be imprisoned for treason...that is, if they found enough substantial evidence to capture him and make sure it stayed that way. He was not known as one of the best spies and saboteurs on Cybertron for no small reason.

He kept his sensor and scanner ranges broadened to a capacity that nearly made him lurch on his pedes, forcing himself to remain silent and unseen as he prowled through the thickened shadows of the dark ventilation tunnels, adjusting his electromagnetic field to not alert any of the others to his presence. They would no doubt have many questions as to why he was in the vents in the first place, but many of them had the ability or the technology to sense him anywhere on the secretive base.

The faint drone of voices reached him, and he froze, stalling his ventilations and all form of movement. He tuned his audios to the highest frequency they were capable of being during such a time, ignoring the fact that he would have a massive processor ache, though nowhere near as worse as his the ones his twin suffered from, later on.

"—but what I was saying before that strange and somewhat irritating mech interrupted us was is that you should try and open up more! It cannot possibly do so much harm, can it? I mean, we all know that you cannot get along with most and that you would rather spend your time alone, but Prowl and I think that it would be better for you to become more acclimated to your new surroundings by trying to make some new friends! Do you not think that if you had someone to talk to then you would not be as timid as you are?" A smooth and almost overly excited, young voice sounded, soft yet slightly reverberating, approaching the Polyhexian saboteur's hiding place.

"I know what you and our brother speak about while I am not there." A deeper, rumbling, and heavily accented voice responded, cultured and suave and almost attractively inflectionless. It was enough to make Jazz hesitate. He had almost forgotten what the Praxian accent sounded like; deceptively smooth and velvety, yet capable of inflicting so much harm. The Praxian language was almost romantic in its roots, yet it had the tendency to come off as dangerous, deadly, and extremely aggressive. It was a shock, even though it was a small one, that such a terrifying dialect was the first language of the tactician and Metallikato and Circuit Su master that Jazz considered an ally.

"But why can you not try?" The younger voice was stained by that strange accent, filled currently with worry and gentle urging. "Do you not think it would be better?"

Jazz could see them now, their sleek and elegant frames shimmered with a natural radiance in the angle of light they were being exposed to. Bluestreak stood with his servos rested gently against those of his older brother, who was seemingly restraining himself from either snapping at him or from a simple response.

They were directly beneath his hiding place.

"I see no reason." Smokescreen spoke once more, his rich timbre soothing Jazz's stressed audios. "I do not see why having a 'friend' would be beneficial to my well-being."

Bluestreak scowled suddenly, the action twisting his young and handsome faceplate. "Do not start acting like Prowl. You are not Head Tactician."

Smokescreen rumbled deeply, crossing his servos. "But I am still a tactician if you cannot recall that clearly."

"I am not as old as you and Prowl if _you_ cannot recall." Bluestreak turned away, his electromagnetic field clearly showing off his displeasure and irritation.

Smokescreen seemed to relent, reaching out to the younger mech. "Brother..." Suddenly he froze, wings twitching and turning towards the ventilation shafts. His systems expelled a large of heated air, making the younger look up at him in concern.

Jazz remained motionless and silent; if the Praxians found him he would have a pit of amount of trouble trying to explain.

"Smokescreen. What is it?" Bluestreak murmured softly, brushing his wings against his brother's as a sign of comfort and reassurance.

The Polyhexian watched intently as the dark blue mech fanned his wings and shuddered before shaking his helm. "Nothing, Bluestreak. It is nothing."

"Brother, you—" Any protest was cut off as Smokescreen sent a pointed glare and ushered the mech down the hall.

His dark gaze immediately shifted up and locked with that of Jazz's.

_If you get caught, do not bother contacting any of us_.

The threat went unsaid.

* * *

He prowled silently, a beast intent on satisfying its primal urges, through a dark back hall no one except him knew about. It was a place of quiet and content refuge, a means to get away from the worries and matters of the petty and inconsequential war that was currently playing out with no real victor.

Ah, yes.

_War._

Such a _**delicious **_thing. Not the gore and the deaths of comrades, at least.

No—the sense of _victory _and the fact that he knew he could strike terror and anxiety into the sparks of his enemies.

The absolute thrill one received when their foe was destroyed.

Oh, yes—and his foes were going to be completely destroyed—

A growl left his vocalizer as his proximity sensors alerted him of a presence in his berthroom. He rumbled heavily, heading straight for it.

All was quiet in the darkened dormitory. Cold air greeted him slyly, deceptively trailing elongated fingers over his dark armor.

He hissed venomously and spread his sensor and scanner range.

There was nothing there.

He was about to turn and leave when he picked up that scent.

That wonderful, delicious scent.

It was an electromagnetic field.

The Prime moved too fast for the optic to catch up with, and he snarled viciously as he turned and pinned the visitor against the wall hard enough to dent armor.

Optics flashing, he leaned close as he savored the overwhelmingly appeasing scent gathered in front of him—oh so sweet—

"What are you doing in my room?"

* * *

Jazz waited until the two Praxian brothers had vanished from his range of perception before unlatching the clamps on the vent he was in and nimbly leaping out. He landed without a noise, ventilations soft and barely detectable. It would have been more probable to stay in the ventilations shafts, as some would argue, but he knew that he could not hide in there forever while he waited for the Prime to show up. That is, if he ever found his quarters.

He kept his helm down but activated his electromagnetic field, warping it to give off the impression that he was exhausted -and, truth be told, he was, but this had to be done. He would never hear the end of it from Ricochet if he didn't.

"Jazz?"

He immediately halted, biting back an irritated snarl as his armor flared and his servos clenched into fists briefly. Of all the times for someone to actually want to talk to him, they had to pick _now?_

Forcing his field to conceal his growing annoyance, he turned. The large crimson and gold frame of none other than Blaster was heading towards him. Commanding his mouthplates to allow him to smile, the Polyhexian grinned in a laid-back sort of way, hoping immensely that the action did not seem forced.

"Blaster! Wha' are ya doin' up at this joor?"

The Communications Officer stopped near him, optics bright but betraying his own fatigue. "Ah was jus' finishin' up some stuff fer Magnus. He wanted meh ta install new security systems since Red, our Security Director, has been under tha weather fer the last few orns." He tilted his helm. "Wha' are ya doin' out here? These are halls tha' not a lot of mechs an' femmes know about. Didn't ya jus' get here from Praxus?"

The Polyhexian shrugged. "Ah did, but Ah was jus' wanderin', tha's all. Ah stopped by yer quarters earlier, but ya weren't there, so Ah thought Ah'd look fer ya. Ah ended up out here."

The towering mech's cerulean optics narrowed ever so slightly. "Is there any particular reason ya've got fer meh, mech?"

Jazz held up his servos, aware of the dark and suspicious tone staining the normally cheerful mech's disposition. Blaster was not in the mood for tricks or stalling at the moment. "None whatsoevah, if ya don' count Blue wanting ta meet ya."

Blaster seemed unconvinced; it was enough to make the saboteur wonder if he was more than just a Communications Officer. "An' who is Blue?"

"It wasn't jus' meh an' mah twin tha' came here, mech. Ya ought ta know tha'." Jazz crossed his servos, staring up at the larger mech, irritatingly aware of the rather large size difference. He did not bother to keep his irritation out of his voice.

The Autobot officer tilted his helm, his scrutinizing optics scanning the mech before him. "Anythin' ya want ta get off ya chest?"

"Ah've literally known ya fer barely two orns an' ya think tha' we're friends?" Jazz scoffed, rolling his optics beneath his visor. "Ya really are desperate, ain't ya?"

Before he knew what had happened, Blaster was suddenly looming over him. Having backed him into the wall, the Polyhexian felt his defensive protocols initiate. If it was a fight this mech wanted...

"Ah don' know wha's gotten inta ya, Jazz, but Ah would watch yer tone." The red mech's optics flashed a menacing crimson for a moment, fierce enough to startle the saboteur into silence. What was wrong with everyone this orn?

Blaster rumbled deeply, the noise reverberating throughout both of their chassis. Something flickered deep within his optics as a tremor ran through his frame, and he threw himself back suddenly, Jazz watching in guarded concern.

The massive mech shook his helm, his vents heaving as he took a few steps back, his optics returning to their normal shade of clear and bright cerulean.

"Blaster?" Jazz took a step towards the other, stopping only when the larger mech sent a predatory glare in his direction before catching himself. The streamlined mech continued to watch as the other leaned against the wall, cradling his helm in his servos.

"Ya're lookin' fer Rodimus?"

The saboteur started, visor brightening. "How did ya—?"

Blaster raised his servo, cutting him off. "There's a lot ya don' know 'bout meh, mech. Ah'm not jus' a Communications Officer." He turned and headed down the hall, leaving a stunned Jazz, who shook his helm in confusion as he began to head in the opposite direction.

"Oh, an' Jazz?"

The Polyhexian stopped, glancing over his shoulder. Blaster had turned back to face him, his faceplate cast in shadow. "Yeah?"

The Communications Officer fixed his optics on the other in a cold stare. "Ah'd keep outta others' business if ya knew what's good fer ya. Ah don' know how the rules worked on ya old base, but we don't like trespassers who go snoopin' inta stuff tha' they don' need ta be in." He smirked suddenly, jerking his helm behind him. "Prime's room is down tha hall, all tha way at the end. The largest door."

Jazz could only stare in shock as the strange crimson mech headed away.

* * *

He stormed into his quarters, venting heavily as he collapsed on the floor, processor swimming dangerously.

"Boss?" A crimson visor powered up dimly, seemingly fixed on him. "Wha' is it? Are ya hurt?" His cassette's voice sounded, laced with static as he slowly woke from recharge.

"No, little one. Ah'm jus'..." He trailed off as a massive wave of vertigo overwhelmed him, enough to make his tanks lurch momentarily.

A small servo was placed against his larger and warmer one. The pale silvery-white faceplates of his creation glowed faintly in the darkness, concern etched clearly into the metal panels. "Hey. Did it happen again?"

The large mech vented deeply. "I fear we may be in more trouble than the others have let on."

There was a moment of silence, and then a tiny frame was clambering into his lap, small servos using the ridges in his armor to pull himself up. "Who did ya get?"

A scowl appeared on the handsome mech's faceplate. "No one. Ah did almost, but Ah stopped mahself."

"Ya what?" The crimson visor faced him again. "But Ah though ya needed the..."

"Not at the moment, but soon." A heavy yet gentle servo ran in comforting circles down the youngling's backstrut. "Not yet, my dear little one."

There was a content rumble from the minuscule engine. "When, if not now?"

"Soon. Very soon." Cerulean optics shuttered briefly. "Can you feel it?"

A nod came from the smaller. "Ah thought it was jus' backlash, but now Ah know it isn't, since ya feel it too." The visor tilted up once more. "Wha' do we do?"

"Nothing, little one." A heavy vent came from the other as azure optics flashed crimson. "We do nothing but wait."

A deep laugh sounded, filling the room as it reverberated against the cool metal walls.

"He will be here soon."

* * *

The spy slipped a cable into the access panel, staying alert for anything or anyone heading his way as he used his electromagnetic field to cloak himself from the ever-present cameras.

The door chimed as the encryptions were cracked, and then it hissed as a virus was transmitted from the hacker, destroying all evidence of his arrival. The slim mech slipped into the unlit room, the door swishing shut behind him.

A shiver ran through his frame. The massive entrance room was ice cold, immediately piercing his armor to gnaw at his protoform. He could not help but wonder how a mech could live in such arctic, as the human term was used, conditions.

_C'mon. Focus. Now, where are ya?_

The intruder moved silently, scanning the room with a precise and coldly calculating stare, searching for any type of evidence to prove that something was _wrong._

There was nothing. Absolutely—

His helm snapped up, and in a flash he was in the storage cabinet near the back of the room, electromagnetic field deactivated and ventilations stalled for the moment.

The door hissed open, and a massive mech entered, his silhouette dark and imposing. With a nearly inaudible command the lights turned on to about twenty percent power, enough for the intruder to see the owner of the room.

Rodimus Prime stood there, intense power and authority radiating around his lean frame. His dark armor was sleek and deadly, and the graceful curves revealed their deceitful nature in their endless dips and swirls. The large and powerful wings were raised high, fanning the air slightly in sporadic movements, and unnatural cold radiated from the mech's chassis, spreading throughout the already chilled room to make the Polyhexian saboteur shudder slightly from his hiding place.

The Autobot Commander's faceplate was dark, cloaked in endless shadow, but his strange amber optics burned insanely bright, fueled by some sadistic emotion such as desire or hunger or fury.

Jazz could not help but wonder why he had not sensed him already.

He watched as the enormous mech seated himself on the berth pushed against the wall, his talons scraping thin gouges into the sleek and polished metal. He sat upright, shuttering his optics as his ventilations began to slow and his wings lowered gradually, almost pressing against his lower backstrut.

The spy kept himself cloaked, slowly creaking open the cabinet door and slipping out, lethally graceful, to head towards the door. He was so close, oh so close...but why was it taking him forever to reach it?

His sensors flared, and he froze as a rumbling and manic laugh sounded.

"Where do you think you are going?"

He hissed in pain as a large and taloned servo dug into his armor and pulled him back, slamming him against the wall with a nearly strut-breaking thud.

The Prime loomed over him, very much like Blaster had earlier, elongated dentia bared in a feral grin as his tawny optics flashed brightly. A glossa—was it his imagination, or was it forked?—ran over the fangs as a threatening rumble sounded from the huge mech's engine. His wings were hiked high on his back, bladed tips flared in a wide and aggressive stance.

Jazz bared his dentia and snarled as the grip on him tightened, his sensor network screaming at him as his armor was crushed enough to tear deep gashes into his protoform. The Prime tilted his helm as the Energon began to well up, seemingly and strangely confused as the lifeblood streamed through his clawed servos.

Then, with a dangerous snarl, he leaned forward, chilling exvents flaring against the injured mech's frame. Amber optics burned, filled with raw and primal fury.

When he spoke, his voice was deep and detached, yet precise and cold and as sharp as a sword.

"What are you doing in my room?"

* * *

**Whoo! Hope you liked! **

**2/15/15: This has been updated! Feel free to move to another chapter you have not reviewed and tell me what you think! You can PM me as well! **

**R&amp;R, pleaze! **

**Bye!**


	6. Revelation

**Okay, so I know I have some major explaining to do. It's been way too long since I've updated this, and I know my attention has been focused on some major other things over time I was writing this chapter. Please accept my humblest apologies and let's start the new year with another chapter. This chapter is a little shorter than usual, but that's because I want to get some things out of the way before I do so.**

**Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Transformers**

**The song, in the beginning, is _Every Breath You Take, _originally by The Police, but the one I use is the cover by Chase Holfelder. Much creepier, and it suits the mood of this chapter. I recommend listening to this song on repeat while you read the first section or just listening to it before or after it. Whatever floats your boat.**

**Note: Song lyrics is formatted as follows: **_~word_

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The time was almost near.

I could feel it.

Taste it.

Touch it.

All mine.

It was all mine.

_~Every breath you take..._

I had let him go for now. I knew he would not tell anyone anything. Not while there was so much on the line.

He wouldn't tell anyone. Not a single soul. Unless, of course, he acted irrationally.

_~Every move you make..._

I was pacing the length of my room, optics shuttered and vents even and quiet. I had undergone changes in the past few orns. No one seemed to notice, though. This entire group was so idiotic that it would have made me laugh had it not been so pathetic.

They knew nothing about me. Not before, and definitely not now.

_~Every bond you break..._

I had optics within their supposedly tight-knit group of friends and teammates. I had audios there, too. They thought they could hide from us.

They were dead wrong.

Huh. That's a human term, isn't it?

_~Every step you take..._

Step. Step. Step. I was taking more and more steps towards my goal. Moving oh so closer to _my_ ultimate desire. _The _ultimate desire.

**_Our ultimate desire._**

They would not be able to stop us. There were more of us than they could ever care to imagine. And they wouldn't even know it until the last moment when it was too late and we were all carving their sparks out before their very optics.

_~I'll be watching you..._

Well...I couldn't exactly terminate them. No. They were my team, the very people I had been trained to lead.

They knew me, and I knew them.

And they no doubt suspected something was wrong.

_~Every single day..._

Ever since the group from Praxus had arrived, suspicion and tension had been dangerously high. Enough to foil my plans.

It had all started with the twins and that Seeker femme.

Ricochet, Jazz, and Nightwish.

They had thought I had not heard their conversation through their encrypted communication links and their telepathy.

They had thought wrong.

_~Every word you say..._

I knew that they would no doubt try to investigate and search for whatever it was that I was hiding. They would try to corner me.

Idiots.

A grin curled back my mouthplates as I turned to glide a servo over that pretty silver-white armor, reveling in the pained hiss that came from the restrained mech before me.

They could not harm me. They could not approach me.

It was why I had insurance.

_~Every game you play._

This was all a game. Just a method of using the cards I had been handed from the dealer. At least, they were good cards. I doubt I would be able to find anything else like them for a long, long time.

_~Every night you stay._

_~I'll be watching you._

My sleeper subordinates would inform me of everything that would happen, whether it was to my liking or not. Nothing would happen without my knowing.

**_Without our knowing..._**

I scowled and clenched my servos into fists. _It is not your turn to speak._

_**Oh, but it is. I have complete control over you.**_

A deep growl came from my engine as I glared at the wall before me. _You hold absolutely **nothing** over me. You are merely a guide in my mind, providing a light for the desolate path that I am destined to take._

_**So you truly understand now? What you're meant to be? What your destiny is?**_

_Of course, I do._ I smirked and knelt in front of the bound mech, my glossa trailing over my mouthplates as I traced my talons against the side of his faceplate. _You are doing nothing to control me. I am acting on my own._

_**Ah, and here I was thinking that you could be manipulated to do what we desire.**_

Fury roared deep within me as I bared my dentia. _You are doing nothing!_

My grip tightened on the disgusting worm before me, and I paused to glance down at him as he protested. A dark grin curled back my mouthplates as I leaned closer to him, our chassis plating brushing with a deceptively gentle kiss.

"Hush, now, my dear mech. All will be well."

A muffled protest came from him, and he shuddered and attempted to pull away from me. I narrowed my optics and dug my talons in further, giggling at the outraged cry that escaped his vocalizer.

_**What are you going to do with him?**_

I tilted my helm and leaned back on my pedes, flicking my wings as I stared down at the enraged mech.

_~Oh, can't you see?_

I turned away and crossed my servos, deep in thought. What to do, what to do...

It had to be something _good. _Something that would shock the entirety of the dumbafts posted here.

**_An idea comes to mind if you will bother to listen to me._**

I shuttered my optics, nodding in acquiescence. _Go ahead._

_~You belong to me..._

Oh.

_Oh._

What a delightfully _wonderful_ idea...

I would thoroughly enjoy this. So, so much.

_~How my poor heart aches..._

Step. Step. Step.

Burning cobalt optics glared up at me through that lovely crystalline visor. A flicker of crimson passed through those agonized and furious depths, making my spark leap as I trembled with vile anticipation.

Step.

Step.

Step.

_~With every step you take._

He arched and screamed_—__oh so **deliciously**_**_—_**as the blade pierced metallic flesh.

_Bend and break you, is what I'll do._

_For when you sneak up on me..._

_You'll know I'm watching you._

**_We are watching you._**

**_You will not escape._**

**_Precious prey..._**

* * *

Ricochet jolted off of his recharge berth as excruciating pain tore through his chassis, collapsing to his knees on the floor as his vents flared and heated air poured from his vents. Golden optics burned a vicious white as the poisonous fire ran through every circuit and wire. This had only happened to him once before, long before the start of the war and his joining the Autobots.

Someone was torturing his twin.

The pain made it overwhelmingly difficult to think, but then one thought tore through the haze clouding him with a blade of precision.

Who would even _dare?_

On the berth behind him, he was vaguely aware of his love shifting on the berth behind him.

"Ricochet?"

A deep snarl escaped his vocalizer, warning the other not to approach him. He was not in control of his emotions and actions at the moment, and he did not want to hurt her.

There was a pained hiss that sliced through the tense silence, and then a frozen servo was pressing gently against his heated frame. "Ricochet, what is wrong?"

The crimson mech trembled, armor shifting and flaring from his lean and powerful frame. "Jazz—"

A deep snarl escaped the towering femme, and her grip unintentionally tightened, her talons shredding through crimson plating. "I am able to do little by myself at the moment." She leaned dangerously close, icy ventilations brushing against rippling and heated armor. "Would you like for me to contact someone?" When he did not respond, two clawed servos were forcing him to meet the suddenly enraged femme's faceplate. _"Do you want me to contact someone?"_

Ricochet bared pointed dentia, golden optics flashing a murderous white for the briefest of moments before he forced himself to nod.

Cold air lapped over his faceplate as his lover vented heavily through spread manifolds, giving her own nod as she rose to her pedes. "I will find someone to assist me in locating your Primus-forsaken twin. In the meantime, I will send for Ratchet." Suddenly she was dangerously close, pale optics a beacon of demonic light. "Do _not_ hurt him, or I swear upon the Allspark that you will regret it for the rest of your life. Understand?"

A faint smirk pulled back the corner of the saboteur's mouthplates as he nodded once more. "Yeah."

Nightwish flicked her wings in an authoritative and pleased gesture. "Good."

Without another word, she turned and left, leaving her lover to his pained musings.

* * *

Springer woke from a dreamless recharge with an incessant buzzing in his audio receptor. With a heavy groan, he turned over so he was stretched out on his side, pressing a digit to his communications link. _/What?/_

_/Springer, there is something wrong with Ricochet./ _Surprisingly, the hoarse and rumbling voice of Nightwish sounded. It was more than a little difficult to determine the femme's mood, most likely because of the cold and emotionless tone she used often, but at the moment, the triple changer could tell that she was probably worried about something. However, it was a possibility that her tone could be a result of her random mood changes and her overall indifference to everything around her that was not Ricochet, Jazz, or Ratchet.

_/You cannot contact Ratchet? I'm pretty sure he could help./ _Running a hand over his faceplate, the triple changer stood and stretched, groaning in satisfaction as joints and tendons audibly realigned.

_/I would not be currently contacting you if I could./ _There was a brief pause in which her ragged ventilations could be heard. _/Do you have any idea where Jazz is?/_

_/Isn't he normally with you and his twin?/ _Armor shifting as the green mech ran a system checkup, he sat up fully and took to staring at the wall in front of him.

Nightwish gave a soft hiss, and there was the telltale sound of armor scraping against a solid and hard surface. _/I was with Ricochet. He said something or someone was harming Jazz enough to put stress on their familial bond./ _There was another pause before a thud sounded on his berthroom door. _/Open the door./_

Springer vented heavily, standing and heading over to enter the open command. He gave a startled snarl as the femme stumbled in, wavering and nearly collapsing, and he on instinct reached out to steady her before she collided with the ground.

The Seeker hissed lightly, wings twitching as she pushed weakly against him, sharpened talons scraping shallow cuts against thick green armor. "Release me, triple changer."

Springer steadied the femme, helping her use the wall behind her as a crutch. "You were the one who decided to stumble into my room."

"It was not of my own accord." Nightwish leaned heavily against the nearby wall, grimacing as she fanned her wings. "You need to help me find Jazz."

"Apologies, Seeker, but you'll have to be sweeter than that if you want my cooperation." The triple changer glared down at her, optics burning bright as he grinned dangerously.

Nightwish snarled, and in an instant, she had the larger warrior pinned to the wall with her sword at his throat.

"I am not in the mood to be toyed with, triple changer." She was glaring at him, exhaustion and irritation clear in her colorless gaze. "I suggest that you choose your next words carefully."

Springer merely laughed, optics blazing a few shades brighter than their normal dark blue. "And I would suggest that you release me if you want my assistance. After all, how will I be able to assist you in any way if I am injured to the point of being incapable of walking?"

The Seeker femme narrowed her optics before backing away and sheathing her sword. "Fine. But this changes nothing between us."

"Never said I thought it would." The large green mech smirked as the femme turned to fix a glare on him.

"You are absolutely infuriating. I do hope you know that." Nightwish growled eerily and flicked her wings in haughty irritation as her sleek armor shifted over her lean and powerful frame.

Springer gave a growling laugh, his engines backing the noise. "Of course, I do. It's one of my many charms."

* * *

There were servos pulling me in every direction. Sneers and hisses filled my audios, and I shivered and curled in on myself.

_"You are nothing but a worthless fool!" _Digits were crushing my armor in an iron grip, making the metal warp and bite deep into my protoform. No, no, no. The pain...make it stop, make it _stop. _I didn't want this; I didn't deserve this.

There was a chilling laugh dangerously close to me, and crimson flashed in my darkly veiled vision. Cold trailed its way down my chassis in a dark waltz._ "A disgrace!"_

_You bring nothing but dishonor to our name! To our cause! _The monster was grinning dangerously, bright white bared within a cloak of blacks and blues and navies.

I shifted and trembled, moaning as my core temperature rose dangerously high. My digits clamped down dangerously tight on my armor, sending unrelenting stabs of fire through my sensory network, but the pain was welcome if it did anything to drown out the aching voices. _No, no, no. Leave me alone. I didn't do anything wrong!_

_You always do something wrong! Your mistakes end up making us clean up your mess! _Crimson was flashing brighter, sending unwanted images burning into my processor. Points were clawing at my armor, attempting to dig past the protective metal and past internal wiring and infrastructure.

The others were beginning to understand the ideas of their leader. White flashed in paralyzing grins and dark grumbles and snarls echoed in my audio receptors and through my processor._ Worthless pile of scrap metal!_

_Sniveling coward!_

_You're not even worthy of being an Autobot!_

_Yes, I am! I was chosen to be an Autobot!_

_You weren't **chosen **to do anything! You forced yourself into our ranks through lies and bribery!_

_No! Lies! That's not what I did! I didn't do that!_

_Liar!_

_Cheat!_

_Thief!_

_You're better off dead than siding with us, Decepticon sympathizer!_

I was trembling even harder, armor slicked with condensation as I tossed and turned.

_Disgusting! You're nothing but a pathetic and miserable fool!_

_No! No, no, no!_

_What are you even worth? Why are you even here?_

_What is he worth? He's worth absolutely nothing!_

_No! I fought for my place! More than you ever did!_

_Trying to fight back, are you?_

_Huh? You think you can fight?_

_A little weakling like you?_

_Ha! Don't make me laugh!_

They were all pressing harder, harder, crushing my body, my limbs, my mind—

My scream echoed in my audios as I jolted awake, my spark thundering and twisting wildly.

I shivered, drawing my knees to my chest as I began to rock back and forth. My dentia dug into my lower mouthplate, and my optics burned as tears streamed down my face.

Just make the pain go away—go away—

There was a frantic knock at my door, hurried and urgent. "Blurr? What's wrong?"

I groaned, shaking my helm. They had to go away. I wouldn't tell them; I couldn't—they jut had to go away.

"Blurr, if you don't answer, I'm breaking down this door!" Whoever was outside was persistent, the volume of their voice rising steadily.

I shivered, rocking faster. Just leave me alone—leave me alone...

There was the sound of someone overriding the lock on my door, and then three of my teammates entered in a rush. I continued rocking, not paying any attention until there were servos on mine. I had been crushing my armor in my own grasp, and they were trying to make me stop hurting myself. But I couldn't feel it, so it wasn't that bad.

_So bad, so bad. You're such a bad mech._

No, I'm not. I'm...a good mech. I've been good.

_Liar. Liar. Liar. **Liar. Liar.**_

"Blurr!"

* * *

Jolt woke with a shock as the door to the medical bay slammed open, sitting up with a start as he ran his servos over his faceplate.

"Jolt! Wake your aft up and get out here!"

With a heavy sigh, the navy blue mech rose to his pedes, stretching out his wings with a flick. "Springer, could I ask you to keep it down for once in your life? There are patients who are trying to rest peacefully."

The large green mech growled as the blue mech came loping around the corner. "You need to come with me. Ricochet is injured."

"Injured? What do you mean?" the Seeker hissed, narrowing his optics.

Nightwish appeared silently, her mouthplates curled back in a scowl seemingly directed at the mech's idiocy. "His twin has gone missing, and something is happening to put strain on his familial bond. He wanted me to come down and send for a medic, preferably Ratchet."

Jolt frowned, his wings lowering a bit. "You're out of luck, then. Ratchet is still on an extended absence by order of the Prime. He hasn't been back in orns."

Springer's optics burned as his engines rumbled. "Why is our Chief Medical Officer on leave? What did he do?"

Jolt twitched at the triple-changer's tone, tapping his talons against his armor. "Your guess is as good as mine. The Prime hasn't told me anything except to keep the med-bay up and running."

"That is rather unusual," Nightwish muttered, her frown deepening. "Why would the Prime keep the Chief Medic off of duty, especially when there are patients to tend to?"

Springer vented heavily, running a servo over his faceplate. "Things just aren't making sense anymore, I suppose."

"You suppose?" Jolt scoffed, tilting his head at an angle and flicking his wings. "If it's what the Prime wants, then that's what he'll get."

The triple-changer narrowed his optics at the slim navy blue mech, his engines rumbling deeply. "And what makes you so sure that it's what Prime wants, huh? Who are you to decide if that's true?"

Surprisingly, the Seeker drew himself up and glared at the looming mech. "Who are you to tell me otherwise?"

"Both of you, stop it," Nightwish hissed, putting herself between the two. "We are looking for Ricochet, not a test of who can hold their own in a staring contest."

Jolt seemed ready to say something, but before he could, a small mech came racing through the open doors.

"Springer, sir! Springer, sir!" Bluestreak screeched to a stop a few feet from the looming warrior, his wings twitching as he trembled harshly.

The triple-changer frowned, narrowing his optics as he glared at the Praxian. "Bluestreak? What are you doing here?"

The small mech shook his helm, shifting his weight from pede to pede. "I came here because there's something wrong with Prowl and Smokescreen and I don't know what's going on because we first thought he was going through a crash, but his battle computer hasn't been used in days so I thought I would come down here myself to see if I could ask the medics if there was anything seriously wrong with Prowl, but then I remembered that—"

"Enough, Smokescreen." Springer cut the young mech off by placing a heavy servo on his shoulder panel. "We don't have any more resources to dispatch right now, and I can't afford to be worrying over something as trivial as your older brother having a headache."

Beside him, Nightwish snarled softly, her wings twitching as she glared. "Triple-changer, I do not think—"

"You mean to tell me that you would rather prance around with your teammates than help me and my brothers?" the Praxian hissed out, the tremors shaking his thin frame becoming harsher and more brutal. His wings rose and flared to a dangerous height, and he narrowed his optics as he glared up at the larger mech.

In the shadows, Jolt let out a heavy vent and wandered away, muttering unintelligible words as he moved to the back of the medical bay. Nightwish noticed and stalked after the mech, intent on questioning him about Ricochet's weakened state.

Springer shook his helm, leaning down so he was optic-to-optic with the small mech. "How about you listen here, little mech? I could care less about your brothers and the rest of your team. For all I know, you're spies or even Neutrals who could betray us at a whim. I have too much on my plate to be dealing with this slag—Ratchet is still missing, Jolt has no idea what he's doing, the tension in the ranks is dangerously high, and now Ricochet has fallen ill." The triple-changer grinned roughly, patting the enraged Praxian on his helm. "So how about you be a good little bot, head back to your room, and go back to sleep?"

Bluestreak's optics narrowed, and he jerked out of the larger mech's reach. "You will not like the consequences of your actions."

Springer shrugged a massive shoulder panel, power barely concealed in the movement. "I've been told that many times and it hasn't changed a thing." He turned away, loping towards the main monitors. "Now shoo. I have work to do."

The lithe Praxian's mouthplates twitched into something between a grimace and a smirk. "I gave you a warning. You'd be wise to heed to it."

Springer tensed, looking over his shoulder panel to stare long and hard at the young mech. "What did you say?"

Bluestreak only smiled and left the room.

* * *

Smokescreen sat quietly, tracing his clawed digits over the smooth metal of his brother's chevron, a light and feather-like touch that made the larger Praxian twitch and vent softly in the embrace of his recharge.

Prowl's condition had worsened since the three Praxian brothers had arrived. The symptoms were slightly similar to the ones that appeared whenever he crashed, but this time, they were different. He was fidgety, shaky, and unsteady—almost as if he sensed something bad was going to happen but could say nothing about it.

The middle Praxian brother looked up to the ceiling, suddenly wishing that there was some sort of decoration. Prowl's logic and battle sensors found little sense in having some form of adornment on the walls, not while there was a war going on. _There is no time to indulge in such simple pleasures, _he reasoned. _They will only cause distractions that will lead to your downfall._

It wasn't like Smokescreen agreed with him anyways.

The Praxian looked up as the door to the berthroom hissed open. Bluestreak stalked in, trembling visibly as his engine whined. His wings were folded low against his frame, and his servos were clenched into fists at his sides.

"Brother?" He rose to his pedes, gently moving the eldest Praxian aside as he moved quickly to the trembling mech's side. "What happened?"

Bluestreak scowled suddenly, his optics flashing brightly. "They won't help. I tried to ask and then that green mech snapped at me and Nightwish did nothing to help—"

"Nightwish?" Smokescreen narrowed his optics, his engine growling roughly. "She was there, too?"

The smaller mech nodded vigorously, looking around the room with wide optics. "She was with Springer. She said something about Jazz and Ricochet."

"She was with the triple-changer." Smokescreen scoffed, rolling his optics. "Of course. She fawns over every mech she comes across."

Bluestreak shook his helm, moving forward and placing a servo over his brother's. "Smokie. We're concerned about Prowl."

The larger mech vented heavily, running a hand over his faceplate. "I know. Sorry. What is the status on Ratchet?"

"I heard Jolt say that the Prime ordered a leave of absence for unknown reasons." Bluestreak wandered over to the lounging berth pushed against a wall, laying out on his side as he vented heavily and fanned his wings. "I'm starting to believe what the twins said about something being wrong here."

"Don't rely on rumors, Blue. Nothing good can come out of them."

The smaller Praxian made a sound similar to a laugh, shifting on his side and tucking his wings against the small of his back.

"You say that as if I'm supposed to believe you."

* * *

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